


Haunting Refrain

by Kitsune_Heart



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blanket Permission, First Time, Hermaphroditic Trolls, Illustrated, M/M, Podfic Welcome, Post-Game(s), Tentabulges, Xeno, john shows off his very clever fingers, music soothes the savage karkat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-01
Updated: 2013-03-15
Packaged: 2017-12-03 23:35:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/703929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitsune_Heart/pseuds/Kitsune_Heart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You are rooted to the spot. Quiet, for a change. You need to be. Otherwise, it might be ruined. This...whatever this is...you've never heard anything like it. It's...it reminds you of rain.  Little pinpricks of sound, all joined together, to make something...unimaginable."</p><p>In which there is much classical and non-classical piano music, a troll is enraptured by the strange human noise, and a god-tier player comes to some conclusions on what he can and can't be for his strange, shouty friend. Also, fluff. And smut. All of them. Both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Serenade

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written before the "Interfishin," where there was no major note about troll culture and music. At this point, I am not going to bother ret-coning.
> 
> While you're free to play whatever music you want with this, I prefer to think the first song is John's "Showtime (Piano Refrain)" from Homestuck Vol. 1-4. The second is confirmed in-story as "Eyes On Me," specifically the piano version on "Final Fantasy VIII: Piano Collections." The third is the infamous "Heart and Soul" (also known as that duet that everyone can play, or the song that Tom Hanks plays in Big on the FAO Schwarz floor piano). The final song is just obvious. Hope you can find a playlist you enjoy as much as I do mine!
> 
> Illustration provided by the gracious leaving-eden: http://browse.deviantart.com/art/EG-This-song-is-for-you-KK-208193672

 

 

 

**Chapter 1: Serenade**

You are rooted to the spot. Quiet, for a change. You need to be. Otherwise, it might be ruined.

This...whatever this is...you've never heard anything like it. It's...it reminds you of rain. Of one of the very few times that the weather on Alternia was kind enough to send clouds in from the sea to pour on your hivestem, bringing the lawn rings back to life, washing away the trash that gathered in the gutters and the dust that always coated your roof. Little pinpricks of sound, all joined together, to make something...unimaginable.

You are as silent as can be, standing in the doorway. Perhaps you should step back, hide, make sure he can't see you, but you'd hear just a fraction less clearly, and you can't do that. Not when all you want to do is come forward because maybe there are little nuances of the sound you're missing.

But you stand there, leaning against the doorframe, letting the sound wash over you as it goes from calm, simple, to complicated, almost frantic in a way, though he doesn't change his demeanor in the slightest. He's sitting there, eyes closed-a good thing, as he'd see you watching, otherwise-as he sways side to side, his hands drifting across the strange white and black surface, pressing down on the little buttons, bringing out this...this  _sound_  that you can not get over. Almost as much as you can't get over how serene his face is. You can tell his eyes aren't squeezed shut so much as allowed to close, and he has this little, content smile that you can't even imagine him wearing as he  _sleeps._ Not that you imagine him sleeping. Or doing this. Or...not that you ever imagine this boy, anymore. Or ever did.

But you. Can not. Leave.

So it is inevitable that his hands would slow, the sounds growing softer, until it stops altogether, and that he would open his eyes.

"Oh! Karkat!" John laughs, taking his hands from the strange sound-making device and placing them on his lap. "I didn't see you there. What with...my eyes closed and...well." He laughs and rubs the back of his neck. "Did you need something? I'm afraid I zone out whenever I play."

You nearly fell over dead when he spoke to you, and really regret now that you didn't. You try to come up with an excuse, but nothing comes, so you just shrug. "No. I just heard that weird...noise you were making. Had to make sure it wasn't some fucking Earth monster, come to kill us all."

He laughs again--John is all laughs, all the time, the little moron--and runs a hand along the white section of the device. "No, no. Just my keyboard. Sorry for the ruckus. I'm a bit out of practice."

"A bit," you say, then bite your cheek as John's smile fades. "So, what is this? I thought you strifed hammerkind. Switching?"

"Strife?" He shakes his head, a sparkle coming back to his eyes. "No, no! It's just for music. I don't think I could do any damage with this! I'm not that bad." He pauses and looks to the ceiling. "Though, maybe if it was an actual piano, I could use the wire...I think assassins use piano wire...that'd be kinda badass!"

"Badass," you repeat, droll. Yeah. Because "badass" would so fit him. Not.

"Well...if I could afford one. For now," John pats the keyboard, sending up more noise, though this far less pleasant, something in it setting Karkat's ears flat against his head, "I'll just use this baby. She'll do." He looks to the keyboard, smiling, so fond, so gentle.

You swallow and push off from the doorframe. "Uh...well...you...do he...that. You do that." There must be some candy-red coming into the tips of your ears. Maybe, if you're lucky, the Heir will still be too clueless to notice.

Whether he does or not, he freezes you when he looks up and asks, innocent, "Tell me what to play."

You pause, about to leave, but now too confused to try. "Play?" You run through games in your head. You would never, ever suggest John join an Extreme LARP game. He'd either end the first session down a minimum of one limb or he'd happy-go-lucky his way to total victory within an hour.

"What's your favorite song? Maybe you could sing me something from Alternia? I've got a great ear!"

You look at the boy's ears. They are nothing special, from what you know. "Song," you repeat.

"Yeah. Like...maybe just the...I dunno, Alternian anthem? Or a lullaby or something?" He tilts his head. Waiting. Expectant.

"Lullaby?"

His laugh is nervous, this time and he ducks his head. "Oh, right. Your lusi probably didn't sing, did they? Well...any song is fine!"

You cross your arms and roll your eyes, because it's obvious that this conversation isn't going anywhere. "What's hell is a 'song,' Egbert?"

When you finally focus on him again, his mouth is just hanging open. It flaps a bit, like a dying fish, and he shakes his head. "I...you...don't-"

"I don't get your weird Earth bullshit, Egbert, so just  _explain_  what the hell you're talking about before my mutant blood catches up and I topple over from  _old age!_ "

"Don't you  _know_  what music is?" John asks, brows drawn, looking between you and his keyboard thingie.

"Dude, we were discussing what a 'song' is," you growl. "Don't change the subject."

" _That_ is a song," John says, pointing at his keyboard. "That's music!"

You look at the black and white device. "Oh. Well." You shrug. "I don't know any other songs. That's the first one I've ever seen."

"No-hoooooo!" John giggles and facepalms. "No, no. That's a  _keyboard._ A  _musical instrument_ , which you use to  _make_  music."

You tilt your head. "So that ruckus was...music."

"I sure hope so," John says. "My piano teacher might disagree, but last I checked, Mrs. Badcrumble doesn't exist in this universe."

You raise a brow, but decide to let that one go, mostly because you have no idea what is going on. Songs, music, keyboard, piano, Badcrumble. Maybe he's messing with you.

But he is giving you all his attention, speaking carefully, but not in the slow, loud way Dave sometimes does when he's trying to piss you off with your ignorance of stupid human phenomena. "A song is a piece of music someone wrote down, so other people can play it or listen to it."

"Listen." You nod to yourself. This makes sense, now. "So music is just sound."

"Well...special sound?" John tilts his head. "I...I don't know! I never had to define it before." He pauses and purses his lips. "Which says a lot about my musical education, I suppose." He returns attention to you. "So you've never heard music before? Didn't Dave play a lot while you were in transit?"

You blink. "That shit he kept spouting was  _music?_ "

"Ah hah...haaaa..." John's smile is still there, but it's thin, and he looks past you, out his bedroom door, as if waiting for someone else to appear. "That...is the debate of the age, really."

You find yourself grinning. Finally, someone who isn't as impressed with Dave's mad skillz as Dave himself. You decide to tally a few more "not a dumbass points" in John's column. He's in the lead, now. Which says very, very little, given the rest of your companions.

"Come on," the boy says, waving at you, hand coming in towards his body, inviting you into his respiteblock. "Let me play something for you."

Like he wasn't playing for you for the past few minutes. But, then, that wasn't  _for_  you. You just sat on the sidelines, taking it in, like a...sound thief. Which totally shouldn't be a thing, since you're pretty sure sound can't be possessed. What moron would think you could own sound?

You're just beginning to shake your head when the air in the block shifts, gaining purpose. The bedsheets flutter and books flip open, pages flashing side to side, and it's like someone is behind you, shoving you inside John's respiteblock, the door slamming closed behind you.

You almost take your scythe from your sylladex, opting, for this moment, to just display your teeth. "Hey! What are you--"

"Sit!" John commands, scooting over on his little bench, patting the space he has left open. Leaving nothing to chance, however, he tilts his head and the air around you picks up again, lifting you off the ground and plopping you--gently, admittedly, but not willingly--onto the thin cushion.

"Hey, let me go, asshole! I don't want to hear your human music!" You slap at his face, rather uncoordinated, and he merely has to raise his arm sideways to catch the blows, laughing them off.

"Oh, come on! Please?" He pouts.  _Pouts._  Like he's a wiggler trying to appease a stranger's lusus. Even worse, it works, just a little. You lower your hands and just glare.

"Alright!" John turns his torso back to the keyboard, laying his hands on the white and black bits, tapping gently. You watch, intent, ears perked, but no sound comes out, despite the touch, and he looks to the ceiling, again thinking. "Now...whaaaaaat...? Maybe not classical...I can teach you about that, later. Nothing too...modern." he scowls. It's so strange, seeing him scowl like that. It doesn't fit his face. "Just...something...ah!" He grins and sneaks a sideways look at you. "Yeah. That'll do."

Egbert should not be allowed to look so devious. It's...kind of terrifying, really. You almost get up to leave, but then his fingers are pressing down and the  _sounds_  are there again, and they're...just...wow.

You watch his hands. You've never noticed how long and thin his fingers are. They're terrible for a hammer wielder, but maybe they're perfect for this. They must be, or else he'd be tripping over his own hands. Instead they're so controlled. So confident. Barely there, gone again, bringing out this noise, this  _music_ , which is wrapping around you, somehow...controlling you. You'd bet that your heartbeat is slowing to match what he is doing with his hands.

They're close together, at first, the sound small, complex, but somewhere in the middle of the song, his hands part, and this  _deeper_ sound comes out, and the entire piece gets louder for just a few seconds, swelling up in you, making you hold your breath, and then it's small, again. Soft. Careful. Going back to the previous theme and slowing as his hands join again. Slower and quieter and you lean into the keyboard, wanting to hear it all, wanting it louder, but knowing louder wouldn't be  _right_.

And then it stops.

You look at the keyboard. Frown. Sit back again. From the corner of your eye, you can tell John is watching you, and it's making the red rise to your cheeks. It's not that you don't want him looking. It's that...you don't want to _be okay_  that he's looking. That's...wrong.

You reach out and touch one of the black buttons. The sound that comes up is something like what Egbert has been making, but...so much  _less._  How does he  _do_  it?

"What do you think?" John asks, turning in his seat to face you again. "I haven't played it in a while, so I made a few mistakes, but give me another practice run and it'll be perfect."

You have no idea what "notes" are, but it  _was_  perfect. Doesn't he know that? You press another key, one of the black ones, and it's a new, slightly different sound, but still nothing like what this young man creates.

"Want me to teach you?" John chirrups.

You chew your lip. You could do this? That...doesn't seem possible. "I don't know. How long would it take?"

"Well, I can teach you the basics in...a few weeks?" John tilts his head. "It'll be a lot easier if I get some sheet music. Then you can practice on your own."

"And what, exactly, is sheet music, Egbert?" You look at him and really, really hope your blush has died down.

He blinks. "Um...well...it's...music...written down? With symbols, so you'll know which notes to play."

You consider this. Symbols...so perhaps "notes" are these buttons he pushes, which seem to correspond to individual sounds. You could make these sounds? That's...amazing. You don't agree, though. Just shrug. "How long until I could play that?"

"What I just played?  _Eyes On Me_?"

You look at him, eyes narrowed. You don't take well to orders, but you're almost willing, if you get to do what this boy can do.

"Oh. Oh, no!" For once, John seems to get it, and he waves his hands. "No, that's the  _name_ of the song.  _Eyes On Me._  Song have names, like people. So you can tell them apart! And...that one is a bit hard, for a beginner. It would be a few months, maybe a year before you can do that."

"Oh. Fuck. No." You start to stand.

John, moron that he is, grabs your arm and pulls you down. "Hey, wait! You don't have to learn that one just yet! There's lots of songs you could play real soon! Come on, I'll show you something simple."

You yank your arm free and cross it over your chest. You're not agreeing, but you're also not leaving quite yet. Simple. If it can be something so...mesmerizing and  _also_ simple, then maybe...

"Here. Follow my lead." John scoots forward in his chair and reaches out, pressing one of the piano keys twice, then using his other hand, index and middle finger slightly parted, to hit two keys together, again twice. Then he take his hands away and looks at you.

You look back.

John waves his hand at the keyboard.

You look at the keyboard.

Tentatively, you reach out with one hand and, much slower, press first the single key, and then the pair, just as he did. It doesn't sound quite right, but...it's...close.

"Then these," John says, picking another single key and pair of keys. Another pause and wave, and you follow.

It's...kinda easy.

"Then these," John says, picking another set, "and these," and a fourth set, "and that's it! You just play them over and over again!"

You look at the keyboard. Consider it. Then reach out and begin, slowly, to play the notes again, in the order prescribed. You mess up just once, and you can hear it. Harsh on your ears. You correct yourself, finishing one sequence and, as John waves once more, you go back to the beginning.

"A little faster," John says, after a minute, and you comply, hands picking up speed. It's simple. Ludicrously so. And it is  _not_ music. This is...mundane. Monotonous. You're going to stop, are about to take your hands away, when John reaches out on his end and presses one note three times.

You do stop, now, glaring at him. "I thought you were teaching me," you say. "If you want to play, go ahead." You'd be fine with it, really. Fine with hearing his music again.

"No, no!" John pouts. "Keep going! You play the harmony, I'll take melody."

"Who  _the fuck_  is Mel-"

"Let it gooooo, Karkat," John says, rolling his eyes, waving a hand in your face.

You snap at his fingers. He shall not shoosh  _you_.

John jerks his hand back, laughter nervous, and makes sure he has all his digits. Then meets your eyes. "I'll explain more later. Just play, okay? Please?"

You snort. Consider getting up, again.

But you put your hands back and begin your sequence again.

John gives you a few rounds to regain the rhythm, then he puts his hands on the buttons, plays those three notes again, and continues on, his fingers nimble once more, though this "song" doesn't need as much grace as the previous one.

It's...different. You just sat there, enjoying the previous song, letting it fill you, but this one...you...bounce a little. Which is seriously just because of how your hands are moving, but...it feels right. Like you're  _supposed_ to be a little bouncy when you play this song. You try to keep it in, of course, but John is next to you, bouncy as a fucking ball, laughing and turning his head to get your reaction.

It is completely unfair that he can look away from the keyboard. You want to look at him, but when you do, you lose track of the notes and it sounds wrong and you have to turn back to your hands. It takes a few tries to get it right again. You think the song is ruined, John gone to some other point in the music, but he bobs his head a few times and he's back, following you even in this monumental mistake. It's...impressive.

You go on for a minute, maybe two. Just when it's starting to get repetitive, John does something with his hands--if he wielded something more complicated than a hammer, that kind of flourish would have disarmed an opponent and led to a final, gut-spilling slash--and the music gets loud, many notes together, and then his hands stop, flying up from the keyboard with finality.

Yours keep going for nearly an entire round, but then John grabs your hands and takes them away.

You turn to snap at him, but stop, mind dying at what's before you.

He's laughing, looking you in the eyes, his own bright, excited. " _Yes,"_  he says, holding your hands up between your two chests. "That was awesome, Karkat! You are a  _natural._ "

You've never been a natural  _anything,_  so you'll take his word for it. Hell, you'd allow him to call you the most disgusting, unnatural, wrong thing ever, if he'd just keep  _looking_  at you like that, his long, clever fingers holding your stubby, sharp, dangerous claws, his laugher sounding so, so much better than any music he could play.

"Come on! I've got to have some sheet music  _somewhere_ ," he says, standing and leaning away from the bench.

Now you're the one forcing him back down, your blood pusher frantic, hands grasping his tight. "No!" You shout, and John looks suitably alarmed by your fervor, so you force yourself to speak a bit more evenly. "Um...not today. I...I don't know if I want to bother." You stick your nose in the air. "Seems like a lot of time, if that little...song is all I could hope to do."

"Oh, you can do a lot more than that!" John protests. "There's Bach and Beethoven and I could totally show you how to play movie tunes! I know a  _lot_ of movie tunes!" He grins. "I've got perfect pitch!"

Pitch. You've heard that term before. Dave said something to you once...about a pitcher and...catching? You get the feeling that is one of those weird human words with more than one meaning, so you decide bringing it up is a bad idea. Instead, you turn back to the keyboard and, copying John's earlier gesture, wave at the little black and white buttons. "Okay. Show me. Then,  _maybe_  I'll waste my time letting you teach me."

John laughs and nods and puts his hands back on they keyboard. "Sure thing, Karkat. Here. Behold... _How Do I Live_."

Compared to everything before, it is an utter shit song. But you don't mind. It sounds wonderful.


	2. Fugue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am giving John way too much credit in regards to piano skill, but I love the song for this chapter: “Rhapsody in Blue,” as arranged by Jack Gibbons.  
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fh9ghHKHcmw

You find it the strangest feeling. You’re use to hard things. Not that the keys--they’re called keys, not notes, as you learned about two days in--aren’t hard. They’re sturdy plastic, and your claws have only made little scratches on them, so far, but you have to treat them delicately to keep them from being gouged too deep. That and, if you press too hard, the notes are loud and unpleasant and wrong.

So you’re having to teach your hands to be gentle, and it’s really, _really_ infuriating. You just want to _pound_ at the keyboard and have it make noise like John does with such ease.

You also want to play more than three notes a fucking minute, but that’s not happening anytime soon, it seems. And, well...okay, that’s not fair. You’re not that slow, but you aren’t exactly speeding through that one song. What was it? “Crazy Fuckass Mind Honey Bee?” When John pulled that one off--without any of this sheet music stuff, and definitely without the notes written in above every line, like you still need--you about fell off the piano bench. He’d grinned, fully aware of what he was doing, you’re sure.

Then he put you back to work on “Ode to Joy,” which you plucked out with one finger, even though he’d told you a dozen times that proper finger placement is important for a beginner.

You routinely remind him what your proper finger placement is, and he just laughs, grabs your hand, and rearranges it on the keys.

You were just getting the hang of that when he informed you that it was time to start learning to use your other hand which, hello, you thought was just something that sort of...happens. You _knew_ that using both hands was a thing, but you didn’t really acknowledge to yourself that you’d have to consciously learn that, too. You thought, just maybe, the knowledge would seep from one side of your body to the other.

Thankfully, the other hand was only supposed to do simple things, like pick out a trio of keys--a chord, as John calls it--to balance with the other hand--harmonize, as John calls it.

You put up with it because...it is kinda coming together. It’s...almost music. John hasn’t been able to really define “music” to you, yet, but you imagine the distinction is sort of like that one thing Rose has said to people about watching questionable stuff in the common room: “I know it when I see it.” Or, in this case, hear it.

So you sit there, glaring at the keys as you move your hands so carefully--and now hand placement _is_ important with as many keys as you need to hit, damn him--to pluck out the ditty which John calls a “lullaby.” Which is apparently something humans sing for their wigglers to get them to go to sleep, instead of just letting them scream until they learn to be quiet or a wild beast steals them off.

Stupid species.

John is sitting next to you, watching your hands. He’s always watching your hands, reaching out to correct them when you go back to old, bad habits. Which, admittedly, happens less and less, but is getting more and more annoying. About as annoying as how many times you’ve played this one _fucking_ song today. You get that practice is important--you had to repeat a single slash with your scythe hundreds, thousands of times to get it to feel right before bringing it into your fighting repertoire--but you are starting to very seriously hate this song.

It doesn’t help that John is singing under his breath.

It also doesn’t help that his voice is as terrible as his hands are wonderful.

“Up above the world so high,” he says for, like, the tenth time, “like a diamond in the sky....”

“Gog, humans are morons,” you mutter. Distracted, your pinky fails to extend, missing the next note, sending up a discordant twang. “Urgh!” You almost slam your hands on the keyboard, but instead hit your thighs. It hurts like a motherfucker, but you make sure your hiss sounds like pure anger, instead of anger and a little bit of pain. “This is so _stupid!_ ”

“Hey, woah, Karkat,” John says, and for once the smile is only on half of his face. “I know it’s frustrating. I didn’t like the piano when I first started playing, either. It took _forever_ to play something I wanted, but when I could, it was _awesome.”_

“Yeah, well, I don’t _want_ to play anything,” you snap, dragging your claws on the thick denim of your jeans, leaving behind thin, pale trails. You trolls have to wear the roughest clothes of anyone in your new community, which doesn’t leave much room for style or flattery of form. On Alternia, everything was made to suit your violent lifestyle, but on this new post-game world you created, it’s all for the humans. Which is completely unfair, seeing as there are four more trolls than humans and human culture is completely lame, but that’s how the universe was made, so you’re all dealing with being gentler creatures.

At least gentler when you’re clothed.

“Of course you do,” John says, breaking your concentration on _that_ inconvenient topic. “Why else are you learning?”

“Duh. I just want to _hear_ the music.” You cross your arms, leaving your jeans alone for now. Doubtless, Kanaya is going to have to work her magic on them after another couple of wears, but she’s getting used to the workload.

“Do you want me to play some more?” John offers in his constant friendly manner, placing his hands lightly on the keys.

Your eyes affix to his fingers, waiting, your blood pusher straining.

And then you _realize_ what you’re doing and you snarl, standing. “Fuck this shit!” You toss your hands in the air, very nearly flipping the keyboard. John certainly thinks you were about to, as he flattens his hands on the keys, sending up a random, dissonant chord. As usual, it flattens your ears to your head and you flex your hands, angling your claws for best use in a fight.

“Watch it!” John shouts, and it’s probably one of a handful of times you’ve heard him sound...not _angry_ , but _frustrated_. He’s looking up at you, brows drawn. “I’m just trying to encourage you.”

“Encourage me to _what?_ Waste hours of my precious fucking time repeating a song for wigglers?”

“That’s just how it works, Karkat! No one is good when they start. I had to do the _exact same thing_. I was _seven_ , but I managed to stick with it.”

You bare your teeth at the accusation. “I am not _quitting_ , Egbert. I just want to do something _harder_.”

“Then sit down,” Egbert says, with this weird sharpness to his words that you realize is maybe _anger_ , “and start over. When you’re ready, I’ll pick something new for you to play.”

“Oh, fuck you!” You snarl, stepping away from the bench entirely. “I don’t need your _permission_ , fuckass! I’m out of here!” You stomp to the door of his respiteblock, wrenching it open.

John is just standing as you’re striding out of the block, and, to his credit, he doesn't windy-thing you back inside. Though maybe that’s because his room is now stacked with loose sheet music that would take hours to rearrange. “Karkat, wait! I’m sorry,” he pleads, running after you until he’s at your side, unable to get you to look back at him because _fuck that guy._ “I’m just trying to help, Karkat.”

“I don’t want your help, Egbert.”

“But...you asked me to--”

“Don’t want it!”

“I...okay, sorry,” he mutters, taking an extra jogging step to keep up with your stride. You’ve all been growing throughout the game and your few months out of it, and on you that’s meant arms and legs longer than seem natural for your torso. You really hope your middle catches up, or you are going to start looking like an _actual_ mutant. “I’m sorry, I just--”

“You know what’s the worst thing about you humans?” The rumble of your words is low in your chest. You can feel your blood heating. You want to turn and slash the moron across the face, but he’d probably flip out about not being a homo-whatever again. At least Egbert seems to have caught on about quadrants.

“What? I...I don’t know, Karkat, I’m s--”

You turn and let your fist fly.

John is still walking, but you’ve timed it just right. Your fist slams into the wall just before his head, and he walks into your forearm a split-second later, stumbling back, eyes wide. He looks to the wall, which is now slightly indented, the pale blue paint cracked under your knuckles. Then he looks at you, mouth still open from its previous spouting.

“You apologize too fucking much,” you say, pulling your fist back, letting it rest by your side. There’s a little red smear on the wall that someone is going to complain about--or go all orgasmic over, if it’s Terezi--but you barely feel the pain in your fingers. Just a warm throb.

“I’m s....” John catches himself, swallowing, a flush rising to his cheeks.

It pisses. You. _Off._ Him and his red blood. His bullshit world where red blood was just blood and he could blush or cry or bleed.

“Come on, Karkat,” John says, reaching for your bleeding hand. “You can try something n--”

You wrench your hand away. Stare at him. At this impudent _boy_.

Then you turn away again, continuing down the hall, into the common room.

Where you freeze. And just about explode from the fucking irony.

Jade looks up, eyes wide, then relaxes. “Karkat! Oh, thank goodness. I thought it was--”

John walks through the archway after you and his eyes zero in on what Jade--“best fetcher player ever,” as she likes to call herself--has brought home.

“Damnit,” Jade says, a little whine in her voice. Her ears flatten and her tail droops and Dave, who is at her side as her constant assistant, reaches out and pats her head until her tail does a single, weak wag.

“Surprise,” Dave says, entirely unnecessary.

John is just rooted next to you and, after a few moments, you look over.

There is the strangest expression on his face. Or series of expressions, really. He’s looking at his friends and their prize, mouth wide, buck-teeth gleaming. Then to you, mouth going flat. Then to his friends and back, friends and back, and you’re pretty sure he’s going to strain something that way.

“Whatever, go,” you allow, voice still a low grumble, but mostly to mask your amusement.

John bites his lip, looking you full in the face for a moment. Then it is apparently too much and there’s an explosion of wind as he propels himself across the common room, over its few chairs, couches, bean bags, and troll piles, smacking into the side of the new piano.

“Oh. My _gog_ , you guys! Where...where did you...you guys, I can’t, this is _way_ too expensive!” But he’s still grinning and anyone that could see how happy this boy is and then take that happiness away is a bastard and you will cut them.

You can understand his excitement. It’s not the standing piano he said he had as a child. It’s the kind on the front of all the sheet music John has collected, with a long, flat body and a lid that is already propped open. There’s some dust and a cobweb in one dark corner, but it looks basically well-maintained. IT _does_ look expensive, just in terms of materials, not even taking into account the skill put into its creation.

Jade giggles and looks up at Dave, head tilting back just a fraction so she can keep his hand on her head. The girl is a scratchies whore. “Nope! Vriska might even say...it was a _steal!_ ” Her tail is back to its normally energetic self, thumping into the side of the piano, jostling something inside and sending up little half-second notes.

John freezes his musical embrace, looking at his ecto-sister. “Oh...oh, man...don’t tell me you stole this with your spacey powers, Jade....”

“Nah,” Dave says, moving his hand down to scratch behind Jade’s fuzzy ear, causing her to slouch, tongue lolling out. “Estate sale. No one put up a bid, you believe that?”

“Yeah!” Jade yips. “They said it wasn’t a big-name brand, so it was too much trouble to move.”

Looking at the thing, you can see where that comes from. It’s wider than any door in the community, and, if that’s wood, probably weighs more than anyone but Equius can lift.

“Pianos are pretty horrendous to move,” John agrees, easing as he realizes he doesn’t have to deal with the fact that his friends are petty thieves or wasting the community’s limited funds.

“Not when you’re a space witch!” Jade yips. “Oh, man, they were _so mad_ when I just disappeared it! But, hey, they didn’t want to pay to get it moved, so....win-win!”

“I’m not sure it’s exactly win-win when you swindle someone like that,” John says indulgently.

“Hey,” Dave protests, “we made a deal. The piano is ours; we just have to move it. We moved it, debt paid, happy not-birthday, Egbert.”

John looks at his old friend and, after just a few moments of that gaze, the coolkid tenses up.

“Woah, woah, man, wa--” And then he has no air to breath as John crushes it out in the most epic man-hug in all of time.

“Thank you! Oh my gog, thank you!”

Dave is just turning a bit blue in the face when John lets him go, turning to his ecto-sis and pulling her into a slightly less fatal embrace. “You are the best sister!” He scratches vigorously at her back until her face once again goes loose and stupid and she begins lifting one leg, kicking it feebly.

You cover your face, because it’s all way too fucking pale and kinda obscene.

And then the music comes and you drop your hands, because, like always, you can’t stop looking.

It’s not music, at first, really. John is sitting at the piano bench--quite a bit larger than the one before the keyboard--and plucking at a few keys, his head tilted. Every so often, he stretches up, peeking into the piano’s innards and pressing a key a few times. You’ve never seen him with that sort of concentration before. He’s frowning, but not in a manner that makes you think he’s lost any of his earlier joy.

“Needs a little tuning. I’ll have to borrow some tools from Equius, I think.”

“Yeah, do _not_ let him near that,” Dave says, alarmed. “It took us weeks to find this one, and I bet we’re not going to get away with that many more big finds before people start catching on about Jade.” He turns his head to look at Jade, who is still in the thralls of post-scratchie bliss. Sighing, Dave reaches out and pets her hair until she whines approval and nuzzles up to his side.

“No duh, Dave. I’ll have Karkat help me. He’s going to need to learn to tune this properly.”

Dave’s brows suddenly become visible from behind his shades as he turns to look at you. “What. You play piano? No one ever mentioned that. I didn’t think trolls even had musical instruments that weren’t made from the carcasses of their fallen comrades.”

There’s not even that, but you decide not to let him know. You’d rather keep it all ambiguous, but John is talking again.

“I’m teaching him! He’s learned a lot, actually.”

“Oh-hoooo,” Dave says, lips quirking up in that smirk that you’re not sure is ever completely banished, but merely rises and ebbs, like the tides of his douche-iness. “Karkat, I am not surprised at _all._ A little pianist really fits you.”

You are not sure what to make of that, but you’re sure his grin means you should be pissed off, and Jade’s little whine confirms it. She’s almost as much as an auspistice-monger as Kanaya, really. She just wants everyone to get along, and really doesn’t get how that is sort of a really _bad_ thing in a community comprised mostly of trolls.

“Come on, you guys,” John says, hitting a few more keys, testing how the chords hold up with this “tuning” thing that still needs doing. He’s trying to look stern and grown-up, but he’s getting that goofy look back. The one that makes you want to shut up just a little while. “Sit down. I want you to tell me how this sounds.” He hits a new chord and smirks at Dave. “Or Jade, at least. She had to tune her bass. You had auto-tune.”

“Oh, I do _not_ auto-tune,” Dave snaps, but he is being dragged to one of the smaller couches, forced to sit and forced to tolerate Harley laying across his lap on her back, tummy presented, hands curled up under her chin. Dave looks down, stern for one moment before sighing and doing his duty by rubbing the girl’s belly.

John doesn’t tell you to sit down. He doesn’t need to because, within ten seconds of his playing the first notes, you’ve lost all feeling in your lower extremities. You discreetly sink into the nearest troll pile--your own, thank gog, lately constructed from the few books Rose has finally relinquished--so you won’t make an ass of yourself.

It’s something...way different. Different from the music he’s played to you before. The rhythms are weird. Notes on top of each other, not coming down right on the beat like he told you they should. It’s breaking all the rules and it’s crazy and it’s _brilliant._

You just wish you weren’t the only one who thought so, because it’s about twenty seconds in that Dave laughs and calls out to John, “Mother fuckin’ _Rhapsody in Blue_ , Egbert? You _trying_ to tempt Equius in here?”

John glances up from the keys, just for a moment, and nods his thanks to his sister when she growls at her partner, allowing him to go back to the music.

The insane, lilting music that can’t seem to settle on pacing keeps you on edge every second. There’s supposed to be _rhythm._ Reliability. But his hands keep going to a crawl before suddenly becoming blurs. There’s this one theme he keeps returning to, but sometimes he plays it so very soft, and others he’s practically slamming on the keys, the noise almost hurting your ears. But you would so let it hurt. You just want to sit here and ignore the two other humans and the hardcover that is digging into your hip.

Scratch that. The three...no...four other humans. And the...other troll. Because there is a murmur at the common room doorway and you turn around to find Rose and Roxy standing there, brows raised in identical looks of surprise, Kanaya just a step behind them both, only a single brow up at the human noise. She’s about to open her mouth to inquire about the strange ritual before her when Roxy puts a hand to her mouth in an alarming shoosh. Mother-daughter acting pale for her daughter-mother’s matesprit. That’s...oh man, that’s wrong on so many levels.

The shooshing works, though, so you’re thankful for that. Until the trio enters the room, tiptoeing to an empty couch. They’re quiet, though, so you decide to ignore them, going back to listening to the insane runs that John is accomplishing with such ease. John say’s it’s all practice, but there is _no way_ you could do that. He’s got to have a third, secret hand pressing keys. At _least_ a third hand. You are watching his fingers intently, trying to match the number of keys pressed to the number of notes you hear, when there is a thump at the entryway once more.

You turn and shoosh at whoever was there, not caring what sort of inappropriate pale advance you’re making. You’re only a little relieved to find it’s Gamzee. Then not relieved at _all_ when he heads into the room, making straight for his horn pile. You’re going to flip your shit like you’re making feces flapjacks, trying to get up quickly and quietly, but the purple-blood stops just a few feet short of the horns, sitting on the floor, cross-legged, looking vacantly towards the piano. There’s not a honk, not a “motherfuckin’ miracle,” and not a chance in hell that wasn’t divine providence.

You’re just beginning to calm down again. Maybe you’ll be able to enjoy the rest of the song. Then Terezi arrives, nostrils flared, tongue hanging out, like she can _taste_ the music. She sneaks to join Dave’s group, sitting at the boy’s feet, accepting pats to the head even as Jade continues to receive her now record-setting belly-rub.

Then it’s Dirk and Jake. Then Jane. Then Nepeta riding Equius’s back, her tail smacking you in the face as they go by. Then Aradia and Sollux and Feferi, because apparently they have no shame, but Eridan must have less, as he sneaks in after, more focused on watching the trio than on listening to John’s performance. Vriska appears in the doorway and takes a deep breath, but even she is quelled by the combined glares of ten trolls and five humans. She just tosses her long hair and walks, nonchalant, to her pile. Tavros sneaks in after, and you’ve never heard his robot legs be so quiet.

And still the music goes on for another...ten...minutes. You don’t even know how the boy can hold that much music in his head. John said it was muscle memory--that he didn’t even think about what he was playing, just let his hands do their thing--but he’s got to have become lost at least once, with that repeating theme. Perhaps that’s what he _has_ done. Maybe the song is only a few minutes long, but he screwed up, and he’s on an endless repeat, now. Maybe he’ll keep playing until his fingers bleed.

You are so torn inside, because he’d still be playing, but he’d be _hurt_ , and you don’t want that, don’t ever what that, oh gog, what are you thinking, what is _wrong with you?!_

What is wrong is you _can’t stop listening_. John is doing something _crazy_ with his hands, the left one crossing over the right, slamming out high notes before coming back to the lower registers, back and forth, and then he’s just _pounding_ at the keys, teeth gritted, eyes afire. He is sweating, breathing hard, and you think it is entirely justified. It’s like he’s been in a fifteen minute strife, and no one here ever fights for that long. Battles are swift, brutal, final, but this is swift, brutal, and lingering.

And the theme is back, louder than ever. John throws his head back, ecstatic, gog-damned _orgasmic_ over some victory over the music. It’s the simpletest rendition of the melody yet, but somehow the most impactful, the most important. This is where every variation came from. Not that first part of the song, but _this_. It’s slowing down, no frills left, just loud notes.

John turns his head for just a second and he _looks_ at you. He meets your eyes. He slams his hands down with such _finality._

Your blood-pusher slams in time to the chord. Dear...Jegus....

But there’s just a little more. A few seconds more focus required of Egbert, and he stares down the piano keys, slamming out the chords, bringing it all together, restarting your blood-pusher, keeping it going through to the very final notes, and then he yanks his hands back, pumping his fists in the air.

“ _WOOO!_ ” He cheers, and around the room, the humans laugh, bringing their hands together, producing a sharp noise. After a moment, the trolls copy suit, seeming a bit surprised at this practice. Gamzee finally flops back on his horn pile, and the cacophony of HONKSis just a tiny bit unnerving, but entirely fitting for the juggalo’s approval.

“Jesus,” John says, slumping over the keyboard. “Oh man...water. Someone.”

Dave removes some apple juice from his sylladex, tossing it over. John doesn’t even bother with the customary sniff-test before he downs it, and Dave smacks his head at the lost opportunity. John doesn’t notice, just guzzling until the bottle is empty. There’s a _pop_ of a breaking vacuum as he takes the rim from his lips. He coughs, some of the juice having gone down his poorly-designed human windpipe. A moment later, a towel smacks into his face and he flails before taking it away.

Equius nods stern approval, Nepeta curled up in his arms, purring loudly in the aftermath.

John nods back to the behemoth and makes good use of the towel, batting at the sheen on his forehead, then wiping the piano itself. “You guys...oh man...just...thanks.”

“You can thank us by playing some more,” Jade says, and there is a chorus of cheers from the community.

“Ah...hah...give me a minute,” John says, turning sideways on the bench, propping himself up with his hands between his legs. “I will take all requests, but let me catch my breath.”

A chorus of complaints this time. You’d join in, but he _does_ look tired. Wiped out, actually. It’s...really distracting.

So you don’t realize, for about fifteen seconds, that everyone is looking at you.

You almost dive under your pile.

“Yeah, Karkat,” Terezi croons, leaning over the back of the couch, “you should do it!”

“What?” You snap. “Do what?”

“Please, Karkat,” Kanaya puts in, her always-even voice barely betraying any interest, “we would be delighted to hear your ‘music.’ I was unaware anyone but Rose had such an interest.”

Dave frowns, and you’re, just for a moment, pleased. Yeah, Strider. No one thinks your bullshit is music.

But then you realize what they’re all asking, and you wave your hands. “Woah, no, _FUCK NO._ ”

“Come on, Karkitty,” Nepeta mews, reaching out to you, flexing her little claws as she writhes in Equius’s arms, “pweeeease?”

Your eyes dart up to Equius, who just _glares_ at you.

Tough luck. You are not to be persuaded by entirely valid threats to your physical well-being.

“Come on, pale-bro,” Gamzee mumbles, sitting up and looking at you with half-lidded eyes. “I really want to hear more of those miracles.” He shifts, just a little, hitting several horns.

The honks make everyone flinch. Now they’re looking at you, not with interest, but a plea.

You wouldn't even do it if it was Gamzee’s demand, but when John laughs and scoots over, patting the bench and saying “Come on, Karkat!” you can’t stop yourself. You rise from the books, a bit shaky. and weave your way through the trolls and humans and furniture.

You have faced down creatures a hundred times your size, been killed by Bec Noir, and took part in the final showdown with Lord English. You even, you dare say, looked kinda cool doing it.

You are about to throw up.

But you manage to slump onto the bench next to John, and the fear is all forgotten when you feel how hard he is breathing. Your arm is barely touching his, but you can feel every micro-millimeter. You just sit there, completely forgetting what you’re supposed to be doing, listening to John’s heartbeat.

Until Gamzee shifts and there’s another chorus of honks and everyone looks at you.

You slouch, wanting to hide, reaching out with trembling fingers.

John lays a warm, gentle hand on your back and whispers in your ear, “Posture.”

Your face turns bright red. In the front row, Terezi sniffs and grins, showing off all her teeth. You can barely make yourself comply with the reprimand, knowing that it just puts you all the more on display, but if you fight, he might notice.

You sit up.

He does not take his hand away.

You lick your lips. They’re so very dry. Kind of unfair, with how badly your hands are sweating. You wonder if your fingers will just slide off the keys, but you position your hands and they stay in place. You press down.

The room is rapt and you want to die.

You pluck out the keys, hesitating on chord switches. You _know_ you’ve played this faster, but you just _can't._ Your fingers are stiff and you can’t really feel your fingertips anymore. Just the hand on your back.

From the front row, Dave laughs and tugs on Jade’s ear. “Baa baa, black sheep, have you any wool?”

Jade yips, reaching up to bat at Dave’s hands. “Yes sir, yes sir, three bags full!”

You pause, staring at the pair, but John presses on your back and you start up again.

Another lilting voice as Jane joins in, speaking utter gibberish. “Ach eye jay kay ellemenopee!”

You slap your hands down on the keys, sending up at discordant ring.

“Just ignore them,” John is saying, but it’s not his words that make you start again. It’s that Gamzee is standing, looking across the room, eyes narrowed. Everyone goes fucking silent, and then he looks at you just the same. You’ll be in as much trouble for stopping as they are for interrupting his miracles.

You start again. CC GG AA G.

Roxy doesn’t drink anymore, but that doesn’t make her any less foolish. She laughs and opens her stupid fucking mouth, a mouth stupider than even gog-damned John’s. “Papa veut que je raisonne, comme une grande personne!”

Rose stares at her in horror and is reaching out to cover his mother-daughter’s lips when you explode up from the piano bench.

“FUCK THIS!” You scream, scythe fling out of your sylladex, into your hands. “AND FUCK YOU ALL!”

“Karkat, calm down!” John yelps, standing, reaching out for your arm..

You step back, baring your teeth. “FUCK YOU, EGBERT! I QUIT!” And, to make it final, you slash at the cursed piano, cutting the lid prop in two. The lid comes crashing down, sounding every single note.

John flinches at the noise and, keening, looks at his ruined beloved. Then at you with those same wide, destroyed eyes.

You want to rip the scythe across your own throat.

Instead, you turn your back on the boy and storm out of the room. You make just one shooshing gesture at Gamzee as you pass. If he’s about to go psycho again, his twisted fucking kismesis can have at him. She’s probably been writhing in her jeans for years at the prospect, anyway.

You abscond to your respiteblock, slamming the door and locking it before vaulting into your recuperacoon. You tilt back, keeping just your nose above the sopor, especially drowning your ears. You don’t want to hear anything, anymore.


	3. Étude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As per usual, John is playing something in particular! This time, it’s a cover of “Luna” by Eurobeat Brony, arranged by Azure Keys. You can find the piano version within the MLP Music Archive (http://mlpmusicarchive.com/), but, as that’s a 33.7 GB download (though free!), you can find just the one song below.  
> http://grooveshark.com/#!/s/Luna+Piano+Cover+Instrumental/4jDQWL?src=5

You decide to skip dinner. And by "decide" you mean you are too fucking terrified of your friends to crawl out of the recuperacoon. Flipping out at Dave or Rose or even Nepeta is fine. But no one,  _no one_  yells at John. You've never seen it. Never thought you would see it. You may  _raise your voice_  at him and call him a dumbass (among other things), but you have never been  _that angry_  while you did so. Not even when your lives were on the line.

The worst part is, you were angry, but you weren't angry  _at_  John. You were just pissed at the community as a whole and wanting someone else to feel your anger, and he was there.

You wish you could drown yourself, but the calming effects of sopor keep your angst at bay just enough to dull the urge and keep your windpipe above the slime. Suicide wasn't an unknown thing in your universe, especially when the drones were coming for old, widowed trolls, but killing yourself in your sopor just didn't happen.

However, while you may not feel that same angst while up to your literal ears in goo, you don't have the same ignorance of your body. Specifically, the emptiness in your stomach. You're not a ravenous wiggler anymore, but you're still a growing troll, and you need way more meat and-you were surprised to find, but apparently Feferi's new diet has been working, as even your nubby little horns are getting harder and more lustrous-vegetables than ever before. Going without even one meal is making you woozy and maintaining your irritability (not that it ever wanes, of course).

Or it was maintaining until you flopped out of your recuperacoon and the slime began to drip off on the mat at its side (another of Feferi's innovations, and a very sea-dweller luxury), robbing you of your peace.

You press your hands to your eye sockets, hard, until bright lights flash behind your eyes. Oh, gog...what did you do...what did you  _do?_  Past Karkat is an  _asshole._

But, no, you remind yourself. Past Karkat is not an asshole. Rose has insisted on this enough times before as your community's little psychoanalyst. You can't separate your former actions from who you are. If you get mad at your companions for their past actions, then it only stands to reason that they can get mad at you for yours. There is no Past Karkat. Just a miserable shit of a troll who can't keep his temper, even around the kindest creature he has ever met.

Gog, he's so kind. And fun. And warm.

You dig your nails into your forehead, but not deep enough to draw blood. Just to hurt and drag your mind back into the real world. You are hungry. This you can solve.

You peel your clothes off-those should have been removed before your extended nap, but the solace of sopor was too important-and scrape off the worst bits of slime. Luckily, humans don't have a problem with the smell of sopor, so you don't need to wash before pulling on the strange human invention called "pajamas"-clothes that you should only wear when you sleep. Who the hell had that bright idea?-and walking out the door.

It's late. Extremely late. There's a little shuffling behind the doors you pass (mostly from the troll respiteblocks) but not that much. This new sun above you isn't as dangerous as the one on Alternia, though Alternians still sunburn quickly, so you're able to choose when you'd like to be awake. The humans tend to conk out at one in the morning, and trolls make it to maybe three, but you'd guess you're much closer to dawn than sundown, by now. How you ever made it this long without stuffing your face is a mystery, but the last scents of the night's communal meal linger in the hall and torment you until you burst through the nutritionblock doors.

You freeze.

Gamzee looks at you from where he leans against the far countertop, a spoon in his mouth. He wriggles the fingers clutching the spoon in greeting, keeping the tub of ice cream close to his chest.

You decide to ignore that. You didn't see anything. Definitely not your maybe-moirall in his candy-bedecked pajamas eating Rose's ice cream. Nope. All you see is the fridge and, inside, ta-daaa! Spaghetti with meatballs! Plus the customary enormous salad, though now its a bit wilted and the avocado has gone brown. You don't care too much. It's roughage and fats and starch and protein. All you need. You get one of the few clean plates down from the cabinets and begin loading up, shoving a cold meatball in your mouth before you put it all away again.

You're about to dig into the unheated meal when you notice that Gamzee is watching you. Intently. Still taking spoonfuls of peanut butter and brownie ice cream, but he is, apparently, not paying attention to his midnight theft. Just...eating. Slowly. Spoonful by spoonful, allowing it to melt in his mouth.

If you were maybe a year older and had greater territorial instincts, you'd reconsider standing here to eat. You, however, are an immature dumbass, so you stand at the nutritionblock island and watch Gamzee as he watches you, the both of you eating without tasting a thing.

You're probably going to die. That is perfectly fine. Solves a lot of problems. And at least you'll die with a full stomach. You bet your Ancestor didn't have that luxury.

Nothing happens until your plate is empty, and you should have figured that would be the case, but you're still surprised when Gamzee pops the spoon out of his mouth, putting it and the half-empty carton down on the counter.

You're more surprised when he is suddenly at your back, displaying the terrifying speed of the juggalo. You don't even have time to scream before his hand is on your mouth, and there's only a second more to react before he has both of your wrists in his one big hand, above your head.

He lifts you off the ground, legs kicking, toes pointing in a desperate attempt to take your weight again. Your joints strain and every bone in your arms and spine pops in one quick sequence. You breath in sharply through your nose and scream around his hand, but his grip on your face is so strong even you can barely hear, and it's  _your_  voice. You try to kick and twist, hoping to gouge him in the chest with your nubby horns, but you either miss or have no effect at all.

You are going to die. He is dragging you out of the nutritionblock and to his basement lair to bash your head in with a bottle of Faygo. If you're lucky, he'll do that before he forces pale cuddles on you. Gog, you hope he kills you before cuddle time.

But he does not go down the basement stairs. Gamzee keeps walking, into the west wing of the community. You don't stop struggling, of course, because he could just be taking you outside to drown you in the ocean. He loves the ocean, now that there's nothing in it that's actively trying to kill him. He'd probably see giving you a burial at sea-even if it's burying alive-as being the best of all pale-brother duties.

He doesn't go outside. He stops outside of the community room and sets you down, turning you to face him.

Your scythe is out of your sylladex in an instant and you're winding up to get at his throat before he gets to yours.

He  _grabs_  the fucking blade, letting it slice into his palm, purple blood dripping down the metal and onto your hands.

"Oh shit!" You say it quickly, wanting to have some sort of final words. At least you'll go down cursing. You keep your eyes open so you can see the end coming.

Gamzee's enormous hand comes towards you.

"SHOOSH, MOTHERFUCKER," the juggalo decrees, papping you most vigorously with his uninjured hand. You are too shocked by the advance from your estranged moirall to disobey or ask what the hell is going on before he turns his back on you and walks away. He looks so imposing...until he comes to the next doorway and his horn tips clip the top, nearly toppling him over before he recovers and slinks out of sight.

You are not dead and you are very confused.

Then you hear the music behind the community room doors.

You turn and stare at them. Again, it's got to be nearly four in the morning. Even Gamzee shouldn't have been up. And, as far as you know, no one in the community knows how to play piano like that, but for one person.

You are sick and shameless and you should die, but you go to the door and press your ear against it, closing your eyes and listening.

Gog, it's beautiful.

And it _hurts._

Not just because it is something you know you've lost, but because  _it_  is lost. The music is  _sad_. How is that a thing? Everything John has ever played for you has been enormous, overwhelming, filling you up, but this is emptying you out. How can he do that? And...what is it doing to  _him?_

What did  _you_  do to him?

You are...an ass. A terrible excuse for a troll. You deserve your horrific, mutant blood. You deserve to be culled. You'd put the blade in John's hands if you thought there was a chance he'd do it and even the faintest possibility that he would feel better afterward. But he's too  _good_ for that. He's the kind of creature the Sufferer dreamed of, and you destroyed him.

You can not let that stand. The Sufferer was not so much about forgiveness as his human counterpart-being more concerned with actually obtaining basic equality and happiness on his world, rather than waiting for it to come in another-but he wouldn't have been able to let this go, either. You have to  _fix_  this boy.

You are shocked that you're strong enough to open the community room door.

Without the door in the way, the music is louder and so much more painful and, for the first time, you want it to  _stop._

It doesn't. You'd think that he would look up or pause or at least make some mistake in his playing, but John just keeps going, not bothering to acknowledge you.

You deserve that, but you can't let it keep going on. Nothing is going to be solved if you just let things be. Thus, you shove your hands in the pockets of your little crab-adorned pajamas bottoms and shuffle up to the piano, standing behind the bench.

His hands aren't as frantic as that evening. It's mostly simple chord progressions and runs of notes. It's the kind of thing he'd have shown you as an example of what you could do, soon. How can something so basic be so beautiful? But, then, whenever you had a chance to watch videos of much older trolls dueling, they used basic moves on one another instead of the sort of battles choreographed in the romcoms. You'd thought that was inspiring, too; there's something about simplicity that calls to you.

The music is soft, for a few seconds, continuing the general theme on the high notes, and you lean in to hear it better.

Your chest brushes John's arm.

He stops playing and turns to look up at you, right into your eyes.

Your stomach twists. There are dark rings under his eyes and little red blood vessels on the otherwise white ring around his irises. And they are so...empty.

You open your mouth to say something, but nothing comes. You hang your head.

After a few moments, John turns back to the piano and picks up the song again, volume rising,  _angry_. You can not deny that. John is finally showing an emotion that isn't positive, even if it's only through the work of his hands. It's worse than if he was yelling at you, each chord progression like a strike to the face.

You are shit.

He pounds the keyboard, just chords, as if he's forgotten the theme entirely, but it's just the denouement of the song, leading to final, tinkling notes and a trill at the end of the piece. He holds his fingers on the keys for another few seconds before letting out a long breath and resting his hands on his lap.

There is silence between you while the last echoes of the song fade from they piano strings and then from the room itself.

You swallow, voice cracking as you finally speak. "I'm glad I didn't break it completely," you say, and you feel like an ass. That's not what you should have said. You should have said he could have your scythe and a limb to compensate for the lost lid prop.

If it's wrong and inadequate, John doesn't feel like pointing it out. He shrugs and looks at his fingers, which are twisting together.

There's room on the bench next to him, though not a lot. You'll have to press your thigh tight against his to keep from falling off, and even then your right glute is going to get a lot of airtime. Whatever. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you come around the bench and sit, blood pusher leaping.

John tenses, but doesn't move away. Of course, he doesn't look at you, either. He is not going to make this easy. And...that's good. You don't think things should be easy with him. For some reason, you think you should have to  _work_ at this. You've never been a slouch, but you've not exactly been a real go-getter, either. For you to want to work at something means... Well, you worked at your scythe skills. You did it because you knew you needed them to survive.  _That's_ what it means.

"I'm not good with tools or anything, but I'll help fix it," you offer.

John shrugs again. His face doesn't change, but you think maybe some of the tension in his body eases.

You tap your claws together, not sure what to do with your hands. "The song you played was really good. You're kinda...amazing. At this!" You finish quickly, voice jumping up an octave.

You fancy you see his lips twitch, but when you tilt your head a fraction to check, his expression is blank again.

Looking at him is too much, so you examine the keyboard. Maybe he'd help fill this silence if you asked him to play something, but it just seems presumptuous. That's your job. You have to fill the silence. With your  _words._

 _Without_  yelling.

Gog, you're screwed, but you've got to try, so you take a steadying breath and just go for it. "Look, Egbert...I shouldn't have done such an acrobatic fucking pirouette off the fucking handle. I just...I don't have the best temper."

John snorts and, yeah, you deserve that. You are king of understatements.

"I just...you're... _perfect_." The second it's out of your mouth, you lower your head, wanting to hide, but the blush must be going into your ears, so you force yourself on. "I don't think I have that kind of patience, to get that good." Big confession time. This is going to hurt. "Or for anyone to...like me like  _everyone_ likes you. I don't think anyone here comes even  _close_  to disliking you. Hell, I tried and I..."

You envy Strider his time shenanigans. You wish you were back in the game and this was, with any luck, a doomed timeline that would soon be obliterated. But you're not and it's not and you just brought  _it_ up. Your failure of a kismessitude with not-a-homosexual Egbert.

But you did bring it up, and there's no going back now, so you reach out with trembling hands, laying your fingers on the keys, plucking out  _Ode to Joy,_ slow and certainly not joyful. "I was just enjoying the music. And spending time with you," you say, in a rush, closing your eyes. You're shocked to find that you can keep playing without seeing the keys. Your hands move through your first real song all on their own. Huh. You thought John was lying about that, but you  _can_ do it without looking.

"I just...I couldn't act like a fucking  _adult_  with everyone taunting me and I...I'd take it back, if I could." You hate yourself. You want to make it up to him, but you told him this afternoon that you hated human "sorries." Which was moronic, because now you don't know how to  _explain!_

John just keeps sitting there. Silent.

You hang your head. Maybe you should just leave. But, if this is your last chance to sit here, with this boy, with this little magic music box, you're going to at least give yourself a memory to tear yourself apart with. So you rearrange your hands, take a deep breath, and begin pressing the keys. CC GG AA G. FF EE DD C.

"Twinkle, twinkle, little star," you whisper, feeling so utterly absurd. This is the kind of shit you'd find in one of his human movies. You bet he's going to get up and leave you to fall apart, sobbing over the keys as an operatic rendition of the stupid star song plays, just barely quiet enough to let the audience hear your broken sobs. "How I wonder...what you are. Up above the world...so high. Like a diamond-"

John grabs your hands, forcing them off the keys.

You stare at your fingers, still curved to hit the keys, held tight by the pale pink hands of the human boy.

You swallow and squeak out "in the...sky..."

John yanks your hands, spinning you around. He lets your left hand go, and you're expecting him to slam his free fist into your face. You would accept that as his due.

Instead, his hand cups the back of your head and pulls you forward and he leans in and then he is  _kissing_  you.

You have...never kissed anyone who wasn't dead. Which is a very awkward realization to have during your first real kiss, but there it is. It's...so...fucking... _amazing_ , feeling warm, moving lips beneath your own. You keen, you  _shake_ , you don't want to close your eyes like he has, because you're waiting for the disaster to come. You do not  _deserve_  this.

So the disaster does come. John stops kissing you, opening his eyes, meeting yours, and, wincing, looks away again. He leans over the piano, propping his elbows above the keys and holds onto his head.

"This isn't going to work, Karkat," John says, slamming the cover down over the keys. "I won't do it."

You wish he'd just punched you. Or that Gamzee had killed you. That would have been so much less painful. There's a sting in your eyes and you know, if he keeps going like this, he's going to learn that your place on the hemospectrum has more than one way of being revealed.

John shakes his head, slumping further. "I won't  _hate_ you, Karkat."

"I don't hate you," you protest, panicked. "I  _don't._ " How does he not  _get it?_  How does he not get it when your face is turning candy-red and your voice is going high and squeaky and your blood-pusher is just falling  _apart._  "I...gog, damnit, Egbert! I pity you!"

He turns and  _glares_  at you. Jegus, you didn't know John could  _do_  that. "I am a  _god_ , Karkat. I can take care of myself. I'm not just some  _child_  you created in your game, if you hadn't noticed. I don't. Want. Your.  _Pity!_ "

"Damnit, Egbert! I don't pity you because you're  _weak_." Gog, how could you ever? He  _is_  a god. Or god-tier. The distinction means pretty much nothing, as far as you're concerned.  _You_ were never smart enough to rise from your own ashes.  _This_ boy did, even if it was somewhat by accident, and that makes him so much better than you, in so many ways.

Which is what makes this so wrong. You are shit, and you have ruined this boy, this boy who makes you go squirmy inside and all stupid in the head. "Dammit, John, I pity you because I made you  _sad!"_ You reach out, grabbing his shoulders and forcing him to look you full in the face.

He does, eyes wide, mouth open so you can see his tragic dental issue.

"I fucked up and I hurt you," you babble, hoping he'll let you finish before pushing you away, "and I want to take it back and I am so  _angry_  with myself and I...I..." You don't know what to say, anymore. If only he would give you some indication of what to do. What?  _What?_

You do the only thing that makes sense. The only thing you  _want._ You pull on John's shoulders and kiss him again.

It's longer, this time. And gentler, despite your being the initiator. You don't want to scare him off, so you just test, experiment. Not just with lips, but also slightly open mouths, your tongue tapping against his bigass teeth, his running over your fangs before drawing back with a gasp. You are far more desperate for this, though, so you let your tongue go completely into his mouth, sliding along his until he's mumbling around it. You just pull on his shoulders harder, making sure he can't escape. You're not going to let him talk, just yet. You started this, and  _you,_  by gog, are going to finish it.

You  _technically_  do finish it when John shifts on the bench, kicking one leg over the side to straddle the seat, sliding up against you. He places a hand on the bench right between your legs. It's shockingly close to your bulge-which has been doing some very complicated things in your pajamas-and you gasp and flail. Your half-unsupported glute is rapidly becoming your dual-unsupported glutes, and you teeter sideways, tensing up as you wait for impact with the floor.

John reacts to your precarious position by wrapping his arms around you, pulling you tight to his chest until you are sitting sideways on his lap, torso twisted awkwardly to face him, your chests pressed tight together. You're shorted than Egbert, but up on his lap like this, you have to look down just a little, your hair falling down between your faces.

You look at him with wide eyes and find that he is smirking up at you in a very un-Egbert fashion. It's more of a Strider thing.

You do not really mind.

"That's what it is?" John rasps, looking into your eyes. " _That_  is pity? You don't want to make me _sad?_ "

"Never," you breath, wrapping your arms around his neck. It's the first time you've ever done that to someone other than your moirall, without the express purpose of strangling the other party. "I never want to make you sad again. Gog, please,  _kill me_ before I ever make you sad, John."

He looks at you. He laughs. He reaches up and cups your face, tilting his head so your foreheads touch, your nubby horns pressing into his temples. "Oh...oh...I...kinda get it?" He bites his lower lip, nodding. "Yeah. Wow. I kinda...pity you, too, Karkat." Egbert says, tentative. "But I think I like you even more."

"It's...it's the same thing, fuckass," you whisper, because his lips are coming closer, which you didn't think was possible without him kissing you again and oh fuck, really? That's going to be allowed? He's going to do it? Not in the passion of the moment? Whatever happened to the not-a-homosexual thing?

What. The fuck. Ever.

"Nope," John says, his lips brushing yours as he speaks. "Not even close."

You will argue semantics later. For now, you are kissing John Egbert, pressing up close to him on the piano bench and this,  _this_  is better than music.

Who the fuck knew?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter will push up the rating of this story. Yes. That means smut! :D
> 
> I have been writing fanfic for sixteen years, off and on. This is the first time I've ever written anything but a boy-girl kiss. What the fuck.
> 
> Feedback always wildly appreciated!


	4. Duet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I did the formal thing and marked this story as Underaged, I refer to John and Karkat as adults, because that's where they are, in my heads. Meh.
> 
> No music choice, yet. Maybe someday I'll add something.

It was, as it turns out, a very, _very_ good thing that you hid from your “friends” and made up with John so quickly, as the human walks into the nutritionblock just a few steps behind you the next morning, leaving just enough time for you to be accosted by a panting Equius. Luckily, the behemoth only gets so far as “My moirail appreciates the musical stylings of the Egbert human, so I _insist_ that you--” before John comes in behind and--showing far more understanding than you would have given him credit for previously--leans against you, tilting his head to rest on your shoulder and back a bit to look up at the blueblood.

Equius looks between the two of you for a few moments before nodding and going back to his bran flakes (FORTIFIED with IRON for maximum STRENGTH).

At his side, Nepeta pauses in lapping up her milk to nuzzle Equius’s arm. However, after a pause, she turns narrowed eyes to the newest troll-human pair in your fucked up community.

John and you are sitting awkwardly at the table, still in your clothes from the night before.

Her tail twitches.

It twitches again.

“Karkitty,” the small greenblood ventures, nose twitching as Jane walks by with a new plate of bacon and eggs to lay before John, plus a plate of just bacon for you, “have you and John...resolved _all_ your diffurrences?”

“Not _all_ of them,” you protest.

John--cheeks puffed out with a mouthful of half-chewed eggs, bacon, and buttered toast from the enormous pile at the center of the table--gives you a wide-eyed, alarmed look.

You catch this and stumble onward. “Just, you know...most of them!”

Nepeta’s tail lashes, hitting Equius upside the horns. He jumps, spilling his bowl and, on trying to recover before a complete mess is made, putting a deep dent in the steel countertop.

Around the table, the community collectively rolls its eyes. You inwardly applaud their coordination. Teamwork remains an important skill.

Nepeta leans over the table, holding herself up over the toast to get as close to you as possible, not noticing how you lean back in response. “Then you have come to a...mewtual agreement?”

“Uh...yeah. I guess?”

John chews frantically, grabbing for a glass of orange juice, trying to swallow and nod at the same time as he also tries to not choke to death. Very little of these efforts are effective.

Nepeta leaps down from her stool before John has enough room in his face to speak. “I must consult the Wall,” she announces, spinning about, tail smacking Equius’s horns once more as she runs off.

John finally finishes his epic mouthful and turns to you. “The wall? What wall? What’s so important about a wall?”

Rose sighs at her ignorant former consort, cupping a mug of Earl Grey in her hands as she stands. “I believe it to be long since time I spoke with Nepeta about social norms and general propriety.” She pauses. “And logic puzzles. If you will allow me, Equius?”

The confused moirail nods his assent as he tries to bend the metal table back into shape without weakening the metal further.

Rose leaves the room, further leaving John and you to suffer through the curious looks and silent inquiries of the community.

Which don’t last all that long, considering. Yes, it took the whole day for the less subtle insinuations to die down--at which point you decide to never, ever again show up to breakfast in the previous day’s clothes; showing up naked might have seriously been a better idea--but die down they do, and you are left to ease into this new... _thing_ you have with John. And to resume your lessons.

After the first night of instruction, you insist that all your playing be done on the little keyboard in John’s room, and everyone begins to restart those insinuations, but you don’t mind. You can’t take having everyone looking at you as you plunk through a new song or, worse, one you’ve played over a dozen times before, still somehow finding new ways to mess up. John still plays on the big piano, however. At first almost every night, but, as time passed, less and less often as an actual rotation is put in place, because it seems one musical instrument was not enough for your little community. All the kids from the first universe you created had some sort of musical talent, as it happens.

All except Dave, of course. No matter what he says.

Rose and Jade regale the room with their stringed instruments, though Jade bemoans the limitations of her new bass and lack of a robot body. Equius has offered to make her a replacement, but that project has been put on hold until the community can find some way to stabilize their finances. All the trolls give the instruments brief tries, but none spend more than a few minutes on the experimentation. The exception, of course, is Equius. Not only in that he doesn’t try any of the fragile human instruments, but that he doesn’t stop his musical stylings. Or, rather, he _can’t_ after he accompanies one of John’s songs with a wordless crooning and Nepeta just goes _limp_ in his lap, looking up at him with big, wet eyes. He’d been quite unnerved by her new attentions, but agreed to learn the “lyrical tradition” of the humans, and all could see that he was inwardly pleased with group appreciation of his POWERFUL bass.

Life doesn’t entirely revolve around music, of course. There are a lot of adjustments in the community, from completing the cobbling together of player buildings to make your communal home, to the mind-fuckingly complicated social dynamics. Relationships had been formed in-game, but continue to fluctuate in this new, almost entirely human world. There is a little drama every day. Nearly a month after John and you find yourselves in the position of constant cuddle-buddies, perhaps the most shocking change comes as Dave staggers into the community room, over to where you are nuzzling on the couch. The Time player grabs John’s shoulders ( _very_ briefly looking at you) and looks his friend as straight in the eyes as his glasses allow.

“ _It’s a trap,”_ Dave chokes.

John’s left brow rises _very_ slowly.

“...okay, so maybe it’s not an issue for _you,”_ Dave snaps, giving John a single, hard shake, making your matesprit’s head flop about and bringing a growl out of your chest. “But it. Is. A. _Trap_.”

“Dave?” A quite familiar voice calls, turning the Strider human to very ugly stone.

Terezi appears in the community room doorway, nose tilted up, sniffing deeply.

Dave flinches at the sound of her sniffles, looking over his shoulder at the woman. Confirming that it is, in fact, his troll girlfriend, he looks back to John and presses a finger to his lips.

You bristle at the nerve of this human--who already had two girls tangled up in his red quadrant--even trying to shoosh _your_ matesprit without solidifying the placement of his relationships. Sure, the boys were nearly moirails, but they’d never _said_ as much, and they are in _public_.

Before you can react, though, Terezi is storming in, cane whistling through the air. “Quitter! You can not hide forever, coolkid! You have begun this project, and it shall be brought to fruition!”

Dave pales at Terezi’s required fruition. There is a brief time freeze on the girl as Dave vaults over the couches and back out of the doors, freeing her once he is out of range of the quite dangerous walking stick. Once mobile again, Terezi’s nostrils flare and she spins about, running out of the room, leaving John’s left brow fully raised and you sputtering at all the combined sources of rage.

“He! He touched! You! Her! I! _KILL!”_ You make to rise, but are prevented by John wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you back down on the couch.

“Karkat! Karkat!” John tries to sound stern, but he is laughing as youl squirm against him, trying to get free. A little assistance from the wind presses youagainst him, mussing your already chaotic hair in the process. “Karkat, _you_ getting involved is only going to _help_ Dave.”

Karkat wants to snarl, but you do not snarl at your matesprit, no matter what your own personality normally demands. So you settle for simply frowning. “You _heard_ that. He...he and Terezi were--”

“Matesprits,” John says, turning serious. “Sort of. And I know you’d hoped it would be _you_ , but--”

You are a dumbass, but at least this time you are a dumbass who catches on on swiftly, anger fleeing from your face, replaced with the deep, deep pity John has come to know and not just accept, but somehow appreciate. “No,” you whisper, reaching up and cupping John’s face. “ _No_ , John. No, that’s not what I was mad about!”

“Oh?” John says, a definite edge to his voice. “Then what was it?”

Your mouth flops. You’ve only been together a few weeks, but you have already been in one minor argument with John, and the entire thing was so _weird_ to you. With quadranted romance, it wasn’t impossible to have fights with a matesprit, but more than a few was generally an indication that affections would be turning from red to black in the near future. John seemed to not realize this and, based on what he’d seen with Rose and Kanaya, it was _no_ indication that a human was about to or capable of switching to a caliginous romance. They just _fought_ on occasion.

You still _desperately_ want to avoid fighting, because your monumental relationship-forming discussion was entirely truthful: you couldn’t be truly black for John. He wanted pity and affection and everything red and wonderful, and that’s all you can ever give him.

So you babble a bit. “He’s stringing Terezi and Jade along and I know that they both know they’re into him but he’s given no indication which of them he actually favors and yet he’s still willing to get into their pants and then he doesn’t even bothering learning about what is _in_ a troll’s pants beforehand so he’s all _shocked_ about what he finds and then he leaves Terezi hanging and _oh my gog_ , that is a terrifying thought and she is going to kill him and then everyone else is going to be pissed and I don’t even know if you all will resurrect anymore and if one of you dies then maybe Gamzee is going to flip and the only person he’s quadranted with is Terezi and then she’ll fight him _for great justice_ and then _he’ll_ be dead and then we have to kill her and--”

“Wait,” John says, and now both of his brows are high on his face. “What was that about troll’s pants?”

You sometimes forgot how single-minded humans are. It is sort of a blessing.

And a humongous curse. “Um...well....”You can feel your face heating. John’s attention does not help in the least.

“What’s a trap?” John frowns. Then goes an ashen color that could have matched your normal skin tone. “Oh, fuck. You have teeth down there, don’t you?”

“What?” You flinch as the image has instantly filled your head. Jegus, what is _wrong_ with humans? “No, I don’t have teeth! I’m completely normal! It’s you humans who are all fucked up!”

John blinks. “Really?”

“Yeah!” you screech, then slap your hands over your mouth. No _yelling_ at matesprits!

Luckily, John doesn’t seem to notice your brief flare of anger. Instead of being hurt, he just looks at you and says, without the _slightest_ hint of _shame_ , “Can I see?”

Your think pan begins leaking everywhere.

“I mean, if you want to,” John amends, cheeks turning pink as he realizes what he’s just said. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. You could...just tell me.” And now his entire face is red. “Or not! I’m not pressuring you! But if you ever wanted to, I’d be okay--”

“What, _here?_ ” you squeak, eyes darting around the community room.

John splutters. “Well, _no!_ Back in my bedroom.” And then it seems _his_ think pan has leaked, because he just stares at you.

You stare back.

You are very, very glad no one is in the community room right now, because you’d probably both just have little heart attacks and die on the couch. Which would be a pain in the ass for your friends to clean up, but you’d probably not care anymore, since it seems like this particular world is no longer giving you a second chance at life, and thus an afterlife in which to be bitched out.

No. You’re just going to die, because John just asked to see you naked. Alone. In his bedroom.

And you are just _barely_ an adult, which means _shit_ as far as your actual maturity level, apparently, so you say the first thing that comes to you: “Can I?”

John blinks. “Can you what? Go to my room?” His mouth is beginning to reform from it’s slack-jawed surprise to something wide, full of teeth, and in no way threatening.

“No,” you say, briefly wiping the smile away. “Can I see you, too?”

John stares at you.

A moment later, you are _literally flying_ down the halls, held in John’s arms. There is a wake of blankets and papers and dust as you go, which smack into the trolls and humans you pass, all of whom whip around to follow your progress.

You’re really glad John’s windy powers were retained in this new world, because you don’t think you could have handled walking, or even running, as that would mean going slow enough to meet eyes. Not an option when you can hear John’s heart pounding where your ear is pressed to his chest and you can feel the tension in his arms as he carries you to his bedroom.

His bedroom.

His _bedroom,_ oh gog, you’re going to his _bedroom._

_You are going to John’s bedroom to show him what is in your pants, who thought this was a good idea?_

Oh. Right. What is _in_ your pants thought it was a good idea. You are briefly distracted by a throbbing, squirming feeling, which comes at just the right moment to keep you from backing out. That being the moment when John gets to his bedroom door, tears it open, jumps inside, and slams it closed again. He locks it with maximum force.

Then he stands there, still holding you in his arms as he floats gently back to the floor, wind dying down, the whistling leaving your ears, letting you just sit there and hear yourself think. He doesn’t put you down, and you are glad, because you’re pretty sure you couldn’t stand if he did.

You sort of know what’s going on with the humans. You didn’t perv out on them, but it was sort of impossible not to jump in at an inopportune moment in their timeline back on the meteor. But you know for damn sure that John has no idea what is going on with you. He’s too innocent. He wouldn’t have _asked_ any other troll.

Just you. He asked you. He wants to _see_ you.

You’re squirming in your pants again, and you turn your face into John’s chest to hide the redness of your face.

He notices and chuckles. That sound has changed since you first met. It’s gone far deeper. You’re _adults_. It’s the chuckle of a physically mature male, if not one who is completely mature mentally, but certainly one who is mature enough to have asked to see his matesprit naked.

Oh, gog, you’re going to be naked in front of him, this is not going to end well, you want to die, can you just die? You’d let him see you if you weren’t alive or, hell, maybe even if you were unconscious. Maybe you can get someone mad enough to brain you so you can miss all this.

John walks to his bed and, carefully, lays you down right in the center of the blue and white striped sheets.

You look up at him, eyes wide, blood pusher working erratically. You curl your legs up a bit, feet flat on the bed, knees at right angles, hoping the way your pants crease is enough to hide what is going on _within_ your pants.

John stands over you. Looking down at you, his matesprit. Who is in his bed. He is breathing _so hard_. Far harder than is possibly justified by his use of the Windy Thing. He swallows and rubs at the back of his neck. “Um...so...should I...go first, or--”

“Gog, yes,” you hiss, and for so many good reasons. You can’t stand the thought of him seeing you, but seeing _him,_ Jegus, _yes._ “Do it,” you say, more forceful than a matesprit should, but no one is in your black quadrant, so he is going to get some spillover.

Spillover. You look around. Fuck. There is no bucket in this room.

But then you relax. John doesn’t have a bucket. So this can’t go far. It’s...just going to be showing. That’s all. You are so relieved. Maybe you _can_ do this.

Or so you think before John gets on the bed _with_ you. He crawls over you and lays down between you and the wall, his shoulder to your shoulder, head turned to look at you, yours turned to look back at him. He’s trying to smile, you can tell, but it’s weak. Probably as nervous as the one you give back. That’s actually impressive on his part, really, because you aren’t the one who is reaching down to his belt, sliding the leather out of the buckle, the sound shocking in the silence.

You dart your eyes down at the noise, barely seeing the human’s hands fumbling with the buttons of his jeans. You can hear his heart, his blood, and he is _terrified_ , you suddenly realize, but he isn’t stopping. He’s going to actually _do_ this. He is going to _show_ you.

And you desperately want to see.

You prop yourself up on one elbow, turning your body a little so you can look at your matesprit’s entire body, if you wanted. Which you do not. All you want to do is to look _down_.

Down where his fingers are pinching the zipper and pulling down. His shirt has risen up a bit as he lay down, exposing a thin trail of dark hair, and the retreating zipper exposes an inch more before revealing dark grey boxers. He goes all the way to the end of the zipper, and then pauses.

Out of the corner of your eyes, you see John’s head shift, and you turn your gaze to meet his.

He’s biting the corner of his mouth. Waiting for some sort of sign before he continues. You can stop this all here and escape from the eventual reciprocal unveiling.

You swallow and choke out, “Please.”

How the hell can humans _not_ recognize pity as romance? John _must_ feel it, based on that soft look he gives you. Amused, commiserating, thankful. He takes a deep breath and nods down his body, redirecting your gaze to his hips once more. You comply most willingly.

Taking a grip of both pants and boxers, John pulls down. First there’s a little more of that thick, enticing hair andthen there is something pushing up on the elastic band of the boxers, rising as the elastic falls, caught in the tight confines of the boxers. Then the grip of the elastic fails and...there it is.

You blink.

And just _stare_.

You are so fucking mature. You can tell, because you don’t flip your shit, because _what the hell is that?_

“You have a bulge,” you say, stunned.

John has stopped his disrobing with his jeans and boxers down around his thighs, just far down enough that he can part his legs a few inches, revealing not just the bulge, but also some weird...squishy thing right below, nearly hidden in the hair which covers everything but the bulge.

John looks at you, one brow rising again. “You thought I didn’t?”

“Well, yeah,” you say. “Jade doesn’t.”

Which, as it turns out, is the wrong thing to say.

John _glares_ at you, so pitch it _hurts_. “You _spied_ on Jade while she was _naked?”_

“No!” You protest, voice going high and squeaky. “I didn’t _spy_ on her! I just...I looked in on her at the wrong time, once!” You press to John’s side, needing to give him physical contact, hoping to calm him. “It’s not my fault she lived like a fucking savage!”

John’s eyes are still narrowed. “You saw my sister naked.”

“On accident!”

“So you thought I’d be a girl, too.”

“No,” you snort. “ _Obviously_ you’re male, John. I’m not _stupid_.”

John is quiet for a long time.

You don’t appreciate that in the least.

“So...you thought...I didn’t have a penis?”

You look down at the pale, tube-shaped thing between John’s legs. Humans have the stupidest names for things. “Well, yeah,” you confirm, finding you can’t quite look away from the human penis-bulge once it’s within your sight, no matter if there is sort of a fight going on. If he wants to fight fair, he can put that thing away like a reasonable alien.

“Karkat,” John says, with a long, Windy-Thing-full sigh, “why the hell would you think that Jade not having a penis would mean I...don’t....”

There is a long, long silence.

The penis-thing _moves_. You weren’t sure it _could_ , but it suddenly rises up towards John’s stomach, making you gasp, and it falls back down again.

“Show me,” John says. _Commands_. You dart your eyes at him. It’s more like the sort of sound a kismesis would make, but the look he is giving you is hot and dark, but not angry. Just... _desperate_. “Please,” he says, barely ekes out, _whines_.

You look at him. Swallow. Nod.

You sit up on the bed so he can keep laying there and see your entire body over him, both of you shaking, now. Your claws make an extra, unneeded hole in your belt as you rip it off. You do the same with the buttonhole of your jeans. Kanaya is going to kill you. Whatever. You need all these clothes off _now_. It’s a miracle your shirt survives being pulled off your chest and you did something terrible to how the teeth on your zipper mesh when you pulled the tab down, but it allows you to yank off pants and boxers, leaving you on the bed with nothing left to cover you.

You’re light-headed, so you sit back on your thighs, hands on the bed between your legs, hunching over.

You brave a look at John.

He, as can be expected, is looking at your junk.

You copy him, flushing to find that your bulge has already slid out from behind it’s bony protection a full two inches. You didn’t realize how badly you were being affected. You should have known this would happen, though. You’ve been pailing yourself almost daily since the night John kissed you on the piano bench, and it still hasn’t been enough. Hormones are an utter bitch.

“Oh,” John says. “I see.”

You scowl. “You _see?_ ” Now it’s your turn for glares. “I’d sure as fuck hope you see, Egbert, considering I just performed that entire little striptease for you! Jegus, get a fucking eyeful if you’re going to make me go through all that!”

“I’m sorry!” John yelps, sounding quite a bit like his sister, all high and sharp. “I just thought, with Dave freaking out like that, maybe there was...more.”

“Dave? More? _What?”_ You do _not_ appreciate Strider being brought up when you are naked in your boyfriend’s bed.

“I mean, it’s not _that_ bad, if that’s all he’s got to worry about,” John says.

It takes you a moment to get it. When you do, you’re really surprised this entire relationship doesn’t flip pitch in an _instant_. “‘That’s all,’” you repeat. “‘ _That’s all?’_ ”

“Well,” John laughs. “It’s not that big, I mean. He can just imagine it’s like a big cl--”

“ _I’m not even halfway out, fuckass!”_ You scream it in John’s face, completely forgetting the main rule: you do not yell at matesprits.

John looks up at you.

He chokes.

He looks down your body at the red tentacle peeking out of your sheath. “You...not....”

“Thanks for telling me I have a tiny bulge,” you growl. “I didn’t realize that was such a great asset to you humans. You must be a freak of fucking nature, shaped like you are!”

John’s face goes through such a rapid change of emotions, you can’t even track one of them. Nor can you get it through his words: “Are you saying I have a big cock?”

“What the _fuck_ is a cock?” You’re losing your pity. All your pity. Your bulge is retreating. You should have known this was going to end poorly. John won’t be pitch for you, and you sure as _hell_ aren’t going to pity him, now.

Luckily, the emotion he sparks by saying “This is a cock” and reaching down to grab his penis is just as good as pity, as far as your bulge is concerned.

John is touching himself.

He is touching his human penis-bulge-cock-thing, gripping it around the base, sliding his hand up to squeeze hard right below the bulbous tip. There is something...shiny and wet at the little hole at the end.

You gape.

Your own bulge _writhes_ and slides out as far as it was just moments ago, and then further.

John gasps, not paying attention to his own groin, too fascinated with what yours is doing. “Holy crap. You keep that thing _inside_ you?”

You stare. “You keep _that thing_ outside _you?_ ”

John laughs and nods. “Well, yeah! Oh, wow...trolls sure are weird!”

You start to roll your eyes, but immediately realize this means that you can’t look at John’s penis, and correct the movement. “You’re the stupid, weird species. Why doesn’t Jade have one of those?”

“Because she’s a _girl!_ ” John says, as if it’s the most reasonable thing ever. “Guys have a penis and girls have a...um...place to put the penis.” He coughs, looking down at his slowly stroking hand..

“What? So girls always have to take it? Every time? That sucks.” You suddenly understand why Rose hooked up with Kanaya. Trolls must be a great change of pace.

“Well, I mean, I guess there’s...things they can buy. But yeah, kinda. That’s just how it is, right?” He shrugs.

“Things? What things?”

“I-I don’t know!” John stammers. “I mean...I’ve heard, but...don’t trolls have toys and stuff!?”

You look at the flushed, stammering, _hard_ boy and you smirk. There is only a little bit of a pitch overflow in your blood pusher, now. With him laying there, trying to explain these things to you, all you want to do is shoosh him and snuggle up to him and make sure the entire situation goes so far beyond pale that there is never any doubt how flushed you are for one another. “Yes, John,” you say, reasonably. “But why the hell would girls _need_ those?”

“Well, I mean, if two girls get together, it must be nice to have a--”

You can see the exact moment his think pan just bursts, intelligent thought spilling everywhere.

John’s eyes travel from your face, down your chest, to your bulge. He tries to be smooth and surreptitious as he tilts his head, trying to see beyond your bulge and between your legs. “Um...Karkat...if...Terezi has--” He can not finish.

You are not going to clarify with words. You would never manage. You do one better.

You reach out and take his hand, making his mouth flop open, because he instantly gets what you’re doing. Which is surprising, because you are stunned that you’re about to do this, but you look John in the eyes as you loosely hold his hand, moving it to your bulge.

The four inches you’ve got out begin to wrap around the human’s fingers. It had been rather still while you were arguing, but now, with something touching it, the thing takes on a life of its own, pressing into the human’s hand, sliding between fingers, coating them with a thin, red fluid.

“Woah,” John says, fanning his fingers and flipping his wrist, making your bulge work to keep its grip. “It...moves.”

You’re groaning. What were you doing? Something...something else. But then you did this and you’re not going to stop. Not when he is _touching your bulge_. You are seriously, seriously regretting that you didn’t venture out for a bucket the second you noticed the absence. You had no intention of getting this far, but now someone other than you is _touching_ you. You rock your hips gently into John’s hand, feeling your bulge slide out another inch. And another. You feel the delicious press of the base of your sheath on the thickest part of your bulge. The part where there are tiny bumps and ridges, instead of the slick, tapered tip that John had seen so far. There’s not much left of you inside, and you shiver at the feel of air against your wetness.

“K...Karkat,” John breaths, still moving his fingers, watching as your bulge shifts along with the movement, the length now enough to easily go all the way around his wrist. “Can...can I touch--”

“My nook,” you groan. “Touch my nook, _please_ , John, I can’t take it, _please_.”

“Nook,” John says. “Holy...shit....”

You return the sentiment as he reaches between your legs and presses a finger to your dripping, _burning_ nook.

“Oh, fuck, _John_ , yes!” You hiss, rocking your hips into his touch, trembling as your movement works the tip of his finger into you. “Jegus...Jegus, _yes._ ”

John whimpers. “It’s a trap.”

You look down at him, keeping calm but you are so confused, recalling those words and the panic on Dave’s face (your bulge does _not_ lash at that very thought), expecting that same fear there in John’s.

John’s eyes are hungry as he slides his entire, long pianist finger inside you, twitching it to feel the walls of your nook.

You lose all strength, flopping down on top of the human, your bulge pressing into his stomach. You cry out and rock against him, just _rutting_ , no coordination whatsoever. It’s a good move, it turns out, as it puts the same pressure on John’s own bulge-thingie, and he copies your motion just a half-second behind.

He gasps, throwing his head back at the sensation, and you look at that long, pale expanse of skin for just a moment before you can’t hold yourself back from leaning down and fastening your mouth on his jugular. Just sucking, no teeth. Hard enough to hold and careful enough to not break skin.

“Shit, shit, _Karkat_ ,” John squeaks, rolling his hips again. “Move. Move, I need you to--”

You’re about to release him, but that is _not_ what he meant, as it turns out, which you discover as John grabs your hips and pulls you onto his lap, tugging on your right leg so you’re straddling him, just below his pelvis. With it’s own little, oh-so-brilliant mind, your bulge notices that there is something sort of like John’s hand before it, and it lets John’s wrist go, wrapping around his cock.

“ _FUCK!”_ John screams. There is a burst of wind as he briefly loses control of his powers, piles of carefully arranged sheet music forming a little hurricane in the room. He gets it under control and they flutter down around you as John looks into your eyes.

“Fuck,” you whisper back.

John nods and rocks his hips against yours.

You whine, meeting and exceeding his thrust, concentrating on your bulge just enough to make it wrap tighter about John’s cock. You can feel the hard flesh pulsing and jerking in your bulge’s grasp, its little bit of white liquid mixing with the red at the tip of your bulge. It’s not much, so your fluid is doing most of the work of easing the way for you to slide against one another, but there is more than enough. You push against the human, kissing and licking his neck, saying something, but you’re not sure what. John is responding with the blessed litany of “yeah” and “please” and “fuck me, Karkat!”

You push and your bulge squeezes. You reach down to grab John’s hips, getting better leverage for it all. You try to be careful with your claws, but you hear John hiss, and you pity his thin skin, pity his low pain tolerance, you _pity him so much_ , you are going to die.

“Harder, Karkat, _please,”_ John is saying. “So close. I’m so close, your cock, your cock--”

“Bulge,” you snap, deliberately squeezing your bulge down as hard as you can. He’s going to fucking understand what is making him feel so good!

His back arches up off the bed, forcing you to follow for his few airborne seconds, the two of you crashing back down when you give him the kind of hard thrust he’s been begging for, and all he can say is “your bulge, your bulge, Karkat, I love your bulge!”

You crush your mouth to his, and both of you part your lips and let tongues explore in the deepest part of the other’s mouths. John has always been so careful before, wary of your sharp teeth, but he isn’t anymore, he’s thrusting his tongue inside just as hard as he’s thrusting his hips into yours, and it is a damned miracle that there is not blood everywhere. You will accept this miracle, because John curves his tongue up to run along the roof of your mouth, right behind your teeth, and it’s shocking and brilliant and you need to remember that and beg him to do it again.

John is gasping. Shuddering. For a moment, he’s pushing at your shoulders, and you don’t get why. You’re just about to break away and scream at him until he tells you what’s making him even think of putting space between you when the tip of your bulge brushes against the very tip of John’s cock, finding the little hole there. Your brilliant bulge lengthens and thins until the end is able to just barely slip into the the dick’s little hole, sliding in and out in tiny, tiny thrust.

Thus, it is John who breaks the kiss to throw his head back again, screaming, “Karkat, don’t stop, cumming, fuck, Karkat, don’t, yes, _please!_ ”

You blanch. Pail. You should have got a pail. This is going to be a horrific mess, and all you can do is keep thrusting, putting your hands at either side of the boy’s chest to push yourself up, unable to stop yourself from looking down at where your organs are moving together. If you’re going to have to clean this up, you’re at least going to have the benefit of looking.

You feel John’s cock jerking wildly, and then white genetic fluid shoots out. You yelp and move too late, getting a huge splash of it right in your face. You gasp in shock and look away, stomach dropping, because if humans shoot that hard, you are going to have to wash _all the sheet music_. You should have done this in _your_ respiteblock.

But...that’s it. Or close enough. John continues to shoot his genetic material, but there’s so _little_ of it. A few strings hit his shirt and then there’s just a little dribble on his pelvis and a line oozing down his cock and over your bulge. You risk looking back down, wondering if there is going to be a second, larger jet, but that’s it. John’s breathing is slowing and his body is going limp, just as his cock is doing the same. Your bulge continues to writhe and, after a few seconds, he begins to squirm, laughing and pushing on your shoulders.

“Karkat! Karkat, _stop!_ That tickles!” He sits up, reaching down to unwrap your bulge from his penis. You make a protesting growl, but he at least goes back to holding it, letting the end curl around his fingers while he strokes the base.

It’s nowhere near as nice, but you allow it, because of all the things you could pity John for, his utterly inadequate load of genetic material is right at the top of your list. Gog, on Alternia he’d be culled by his _own_ matesprit for that, just to free up their quadrants again.

“Oh man... _thank you_ , Karkat. That was...amazing.” John laughs and looks up from what his hands are doing, into your face. “I didn’t kn....”

He stares at you.

You knit your brows. “What?”

“I am never going to forget this,” John breaths. “As long as I live. Best. Thing. Ever.”

You scowl, but you kind of get it when he lets the base of your bulge go and reaches out and touches your face where it is wet and a little cold from the boy’s genetic material. You’d forgotten, it was so negligible in volume. He brushes a thumb along your cheek, and you swoon a little, your bulge squeezing John’s fingers in response. On your next inward breath, the musky odor of the genetic material is stronger, and you nearly have to cross your eyes to look down and see that John is presenting his wet thumb to your lips.

You look up, into his eyes, and growl, “What? I’m supposed to eat that? Is that why you humans produce so little? Because it’s wasteful or something?”

“Hah, no?” John grins. “I mean, that wasn’t a little! Damn, Karkat, I don’t think I’ve _ever_ orgasmed so hard before!”

You scoff. “ _That_ is a record for you? How do you humans _ever_ had children like that?”

John pauses, genuinely considering it. After a minute, he shrugs. “Ask Rose?”

“Yeah. No,” you say. Rolling your eyes, you open your mouth and lap at John’s thumb. The taste is...strong, but not entirely unpleasant. Not a delicacy by any means, though. “Ugh. Do I have to eat it all?”

“N-no,” John squeaks, eyes wide. “You didn’t...have to...I...here.” He lets your bulge go entirely and pulls off his soaked shirt, turning it inside out and dabbing the genetic material off your face. It’s almost a pale gesture, except, of course it’s genetic material, so you allow it.

“Um...so...did you....” John tosses the shirt aside and his eyes dart down to your bulge, then back up to your eyes. He smiles, nervous.

“You couldn’t tell?” You ask, wondering what kind of moron would be unable to notice that your bulge is still out from behind its bone shield.

“OH! No, I guess not,” John says, laughing. “I sort of expected something...else, really. But I’m glad you got off, too.” He beams.

“I didn’t,” you deadpan.

Lights. Fucking. Out. “Oh. I...wow, _sorry_ , Karkat. I sort of thought, with how you were acting, maybe you....” He trails off.

A moment later, his face goes sort of stern. He nods. “Okay then. On it!”

You’re about to ask what he’s going to be on when the Windy Thing picks up again. It’s very localized, though, sparing all the already chaotic sheet music, just lifting you and him off the bed. You flip around swiftly and crash back down to the mattress. Your arms are flailing the entire time, and John is laughing because John is _always_ laughing.

“What the hell are you doing?” You sit up up,resting your weight on your elbows, looking down at John as he straddles your hips, instead of the other way around. “I’d have moved if you asked me!”

“I know,” John says, darting up to kiss you. “But this is just more fun!”

“Yeah, for _you_ , “ you sulk, but the sulk is conquered as John kisses your nose. Then your mouth. Then, even before you can open your mouth to his, your jawline and your neck and your collarbone. And lower. And lower.

You watch John’s progress down your chest and your stomach and beyond with ever-widening eyes. You only manage to speak when he shocks you by sticking his tongue into the shallow divot where you were once attached to the Mother Grub, before you were plucked from her to face the caverns. “W-what are you doing?”

John just _looks up at you_ , tongue dragging along the divot in one long sweep. When he reaches the lower end, he grins and says, most reasonably, “This is what humans do.”

“Humans,” you repeat, because you are a fucking genius.

“Well, human guys. We don’t have nooks,” he says, sinking lower on the bed until he is laying between your legs, his breath running across your bulge, “but we _do_ have mouths.”

He opens his mouth and lowers it towards your bulge.

“OH JEGUS H. CONDESCE GRIST!” You scream like a female wiggler and throw yourself back against John’s headboard, slamming it into the wall and leaving some very good dents behind, some of those dents being in your spine.

John looks down at the covers, roughly at the spot your bulge had been a nanosecond before, and blinks. After several rounds of blinking, he looks up, no less confused, though the lowering of his brows conveys a certain amount of annoyance that you still find alien on him. “Karkat, what--”

“WHAT THE FUCK, DO HUMAN BULGES GROW BACK OR SOMETHING, FUCK, WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT!?” You are at least three octaves up in your screaming, but you do not care, because your bulge has reacted to this terrible threat by retracting fully, and _fuck_ that _hurts!_

John sits up, staring at you. “What? No! No, Karkat, they--” He facepalms. “It’s called a blowjob!”

“YOU WERE GOING TO BLOW IT UP!?”

“No!” He moves a shuffling half-crawled step up the bed, but stops when you bring your hands up, fingers curved into lethal claws. “Karkat! It wasn’t going to blow up your bulge! I was just going to put it in my mouth!”

“WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT!?”

“Because it _feels good_ ,” he snaps, looking to the ceiling for guidance from the human god that he has yet to realize is now on the same level as he. “I wasn’t going to hurt you. Look!” His mouth opens wide, showing off his many, shining teeth, from the oddly over-large ones at the front to the few triangular ones beside the dorky pair, and the flat ones at the back. “I bet I couldn’t even hurt you with these.”

You put your hand over your stinging bone bulge, in case the human gets any ideas. “Have you _seen_ those wood-chomp-beast things you have, John? Yeah, you could hurt my bulge. Jegus, what is _wrong_ with you?”

“What is _wrong_ ,” John says, tensely, “is I want to suck my boyfriend’s cock, which is easily _the gayest thing_ I have ever said, and he won’t _let me_.”

You are not dealing with his ambiguous homosexuality right now. He’s jokingly called himself Karkat-sexual, which you’re fine with, but he is not going to use it as a weapon to get _his_ weapons on your bulge. “There is _no way_ you are getting your mouth on my bulge, so you may as well get used to just having my nook, fuckass!”

John’s face does another one of those rapid emotion switches. This time, he goes from that pure anger to just _blankness_ as he stops looking you in the face and begins looking you in the crotch.

You suddenly get why Rose is always pissed when Eridan does the same to her chest bumps.

“Okay,” John says and fucking _dive bombs_ your crotch. It is the least-sexy thing ever.

Which you forget the second he shoves his tongue into your nook.

“Ah! Ah, what the _fuck!_ ” You cry out, cupping your hand harder over your bulge, which is already responding with great enthusiasm. You are pretty much sitting on John’s face as he thrusts his tongue into you. You’re so unstable that you have to reach down and grab entire fistfuls of his hair, draping your legs over his shoulders, leaning back so your shoulders can put some weight onto the headboard.

And it. Is. _Awesome._

He doesn’t have a troll tongue, which are all long and barely wet and a little spiny at the tip, which is great for a meat-eater but sometimes bad for a lover. His is all smooth and _very_ damp and it is _moving,_ in you and over the slit of your nook. You’re having a hard time concentrating on the peril of your bulge with that tongue fucking you, so you only make a few half-hearted attempts to keep it inside. Soon, though, the burning in your nook is too much and you will _not_ let John’s hair go to press your bulge back inside. It slides out, long and twice as wet for having gone back inside your excited body. You could control it and keep it close to your body, but control is very much not your thing right now, so it slides out and just sort of flops over John’s head, leaving a red trail in his hair.

John starts at the sudden weight, tilting his head back to look up at you, finding his view mostly obscured by needy bulge. You _should_ freak out at that, but all you can do is whine and rock your hips on his face, urging his tongue deeper.

It is a damned good thing he doesn’t make another attack on your bulge, because you’d...maybe let him, because you feel _too good_. Instead, John takes one hand off your hip and wraps it around the base of your bulge, grip just tight enough to keep you as your bulge lashes under the touch. You _keen_ , you _shake,_ you _fucking stop breathing_ as he slides his hand along your length, the red fluid building up on the leading edge, spilling down his wrist. He gets to the tip of your bulge, which has gone an obscenely bright red, pulsing with your heartbeat, and he squeezes it _so carefully_ that you are shocked he didn’t ask anyone what to do with your bits, because that is _perfect_. Anything more and you’d be crying out in pain, but instead you rock your hips, fucking his tongue back, sobbing and telling him how _fucking amazing_ it feels.

“Feel better if it wasn’t my hand,” John growls. He fucking _growls_ against your nook.

“Yes, yes, gog, yes, so good,” you whine. His face must be a fucking nightmare, now, with how much fluid is leaking from your nook.

And, oh, it fucking _is,_ because he lifts his head from between your legs and smiles at you. “Really? Great!”

You’re about to scream at him for stopping, but you instead scream because he tilts his head down and slides your bulge into his mouth.

And then your scream of desperate fear turns to one of absolute think-pan-shattering bliss as your bulge sees its opportunity, lengthening and sliding all the way into John’s mouth and down his throat.

John chokes and flails his arms, pulling back, dragging you off the headboard, your head clocking the wooden edge as you fall down. You’re seeing stars, and it’s not entirely due to blunt force trauma. You are _so close,_ it _hurts,_ but he has taken your bulge out of his mouth, coughing and gagging.

“Gah...gluh...Karkat, sorry, I thought--”

“Holy _fuck_ , Egbert, you have my total permission to do that again,” you spit, trying to reach up and grab his hair and force him down on you again.

“Ah, wait! Karkat!” John grabs your wrists, pinning them by your hips, lifting himself up to look at you. “Shit, Karkat, you almost choked me!”

“Can’t, good, so good,” you babble, lifting your hips, your bulge lashing across his chest, leaving behind red streaks. “Damnit, Egbert, don’t you _dare_ stop, I am so _close_.”

“Oh,” John says, looking down at you, the boy he has just completely _ruined._ “Really?”

“Yes, fuckass! Don’t _stop!_ ”

John looks down at your unruly bulge. “Karkat, there is no way I can do that again without you killing me!”

You sit up and grab John’s hair, pulling him to your level so you can hiss into his ear. “Then _fuck me_ , asshole!”

John is still for a very long time.

Then he nods.

“Fucking _right_ ,” you growl, letting John’s hair go and flopping back down on the bed, looking up at the human. You are very, _very_ impatient.

So it is good that John only hesitates a moment longer before shifting up the bed, over, _on top of you_. He holds himself up, arm muscles tense, looking down at you as he carefully brings your hips into alignment. When his weird human bulge brushes your nook, your groan, rolling up into him, trying to force him inside. “Now,” you growl. “Now, _please_.”

“Yeah,” John breaths. “Okay.”

Then he rolls his shoulders and shifts his hips forward and he is _inside you_. The larger tip of his bulge pops in and then it’s all one long, smooth thrust as he fills you. It’s rigid, unforgiving, and it’s touching all along the walls of your nook in just the right way. You fucking _sob_ , it’s so good, and you sob again when John laughs and lowers himself to kiss you below your eyes, on your forehead, at the hollow of your throat, and finally on the lips.

“Karkat, oh my God. You’re...so... _warm_.”

“Ngh,” you say in response, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, grabbing your own wrists so you won’t dig your claws into his delicate skin. You pull down, forcing all of his weight onto you, despite his attempts to ease the burden. You want to _feel_ him, on you, _inside you._ You want more of the press of his body on your bulge as he begins a gentle rocking, priming an explosion in your nook, lightning a storm along your bulge.

“Is this okay?” John asks, reaching down, grabbing at your ass to shift your hips up, giving him deeper access to your nook as he begins to move faster. “Am I--fuck, _Karkat--_ am I hurting you?”

You have _no idea_ why he’d think you were in pain. Not with how your bulge is throbbing and how your nook is clamping down on him. You’re not going to be able to take this.

“ _Karkat_ ,” John shouts, pausing in his thrusting. “Am I hurting you!?”

Your eyes snap open and you open your mouth, pulling your lips back and you yowl at him. “YOU STUPID FUCKING NOOK-LICKER, IF YOU DARE STOP I AM GOING TO KNOCK YOU OUT AND RIDE YOU UNTIL I AM DONE, AND THEN I AM GOING TO--”

John nods. “Right.” He starts thrusting again, panting, putting all of his strength into it. He’s building up a sweat to rival fucking Zahhak. You think he must be somehow abusing his wind powers to fuck you this hard, and you do not care because you are just moments away from finishing, just moments from ruining this fucking bed and--

“Pail!” You scream. “Pail! Need a pail!”

“Whu?” John says, looking at you with the stupidest expression in all paradox space.

“ _Stop, we need a pail!”_

He stares at you. Then shakes his head. “Oh. Right. Pails. One second.”

He reaches into that vague space that you know corresponds to his sylladex, and a second later it is _there._ Shining and clean and just the _sight_ of it has you screaming as your nook clamps down and your bulge pumps and _too fucking late_ , this is going to be a _mess._

“Crap!” John says inadequately, wrapping an arm around your neck and flinging himself backwards on the bed, your collective momentum lifting you up so you are sitting on his lap as he settles on his thighs. Wind definitely gets involved as the pail is levitated and shoved under your ass. You are barely hitting the thing, but you can tell that there’s something going in based on the hollow splash, and that is even better than the sight of the thing, making you just completely lose it, screaming and rocking on John’s cock, forcing yourself over the final edge, your body releasing what must be sweeps worth of pent-up genetic material, your nook clamping down on your matesprit.

“Fuck, _fuck.”_ John hugs you to his chest, jerking his hips up into you. “Fuck, Karkat, _cumming_ ,” he says. You almost scream at him to pull out and use the pail--that’s what it’s there for, after all--but you don’t _feel_ anything. Not with the flood of your own genetic material from your nook and your bulge. Whatever the human is doing, it’s negligible, but for the fact that you know you have just made him feel nearly as good as you are feeling yourself. Suddenly, you really appreciate the human genetic material deficiency, since it means he can keep moving in you as you ride him desperately.

For a little while, at least. John stills seconds after his annuncement and, soon after, he is laughing again, pulling out of your nook. Unfortunately, your nook is still spasming and leaking, and you keen at the loss. John, ever the gentleman, parts his legs so he can pull the bucket between them, letting you empty more easily into it and freeing one hand to begin working at you, palm sliding along your bulge and fingers fucking your nook. He keeps at it, face going from a peaceful smile to a smug smirk and then a faintly alarmed gape. Two minutes later, when you finally begin twitching from the unpleasantly intense sensations and reach out to push his hands away, he laughs, lifting his soaked hand to wipe at his brow, utterly ruining any attempt he had of getting the sweat out of his eyes. Or, well, not ruining that attempt, but the red line he leaves behind makes it generally ridiculous.

“Karkat, woah, wow...that was....” John tilts you back to look down at the contents of the bucket. “Woah.”

You flush and hunch your shoulders. “I thought your twisted species didn’t even do buckets. Why do you have one in your sylladex?”

“Um....” John coughed. “I may have received one as a gift. After we started dating.”

“A gift,” you repeat. “Rose?” It seems just the sort of thing the woman would do.

“Um...no,” John murmurs, looking down, this time not exactly _at_ the bucket. You doubt he’s seeing it. “Gamzee.”

“Oh,” you whisper. You try really, _really_ hard not to tear up, but you are probably failing. You can not _believe_ that shitstain of an ex-moirail. How _dare_ he.

You wrap your arms around John’s neck, and he seems to get the reason why, returning the hug, nuzzling into your hair. “Thank you, Karkat,” he whispers. “Thank you. So much.”

“You have to be given a bucket by a fucking _clown_ ,” you sob. “You are the most pathetic thing I have ever seen.”

John strokes your hair--probably soaking it with your genetic fluids, but you’re both going to need a bath and a trip to the laundry room for new sheets, anyway--and just holds you tighter. “I love you, too, Karkat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just depressed the fuck out of myself with that ending.
> 
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> 
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**Author's Note:**

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